<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>choose me or your pyre by koisurufortunecookie</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24673900">choose me or your pyre</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/koisurufortunecookie/pseuds/koisurufortunecookie'>koisurufortunecookie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Centricide (Webseries)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cuckqueaning, F/F, Historical References, Internalized Homophobia, Not Canon Compliant, Obsession, Racist Language, Rape Fantasy, Sexual Repression, Slut Shaming, Song: Hellfire (Disney), Unhappy Ending, Unrequited Love, a lot of these ships are one sided btw, actually the annapantsu cover and slightly changed, and while she deserves every second of it, is a happy authunity ending ever possible without distorting both ideologies? science says no, just. a lot of dark fantasies on nazis end, nazis going through it, oh also ancom uses they/them, ok again its nazi. idk what else to warn you about, so like be aware of that lol, someone give ancap a headpat and a line of coke she did not sign up for this, sort of not really, the others definitely do not, they still id as a girl but they/them bc genders a fuck, this doesnt follow canon events At All, this is not a love story, this whole thing is written from the perspective of the EMBODIMENT OF FASCISM</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:14:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>46,135</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24673900</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/koisurufortunecookie/pseuds/koisurufortunecookie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not her fault. Nazi knows, in her heart, that she wouldn't be like this without corrupting outside influences. She is pure, untainted, a rose amongst thorns leading her people to a just future. All of these sickening feelings...</p><p>It's all Commie's fault. Yes. It had to be her fault. That whorish Bolshevik foolishly let a spark grow into a forest fire, and Nazi found herself caught in it. </p><p>It's now a question of whether or not the flames will consume them both.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anarcho-Capitalist/Anarcho-Communist (Centricide), Anarcho-Communism/Communism (Centricide), Anarcho-Communism/White Identitarian | Nazi (Centricide), Communist/White Identitarian | Nazi (Centricide)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>132</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. he made the devil so much stronger than a man</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>authunity worst unity irl but god DAMN if it isn't a fun centricide dynamic.</p><p>anyways, hi! so i sure hope you read those tags, because this isn't gonna be a very happy-go-lucky read. i'm having an... interesting time trying to get into the mind of a fascist, i'll say that much, but i hope you'll come with me on this wild ride. so, the tags are gonna be changed over time. new ships, new shenanigans. i have this whole thing plotted out and it's gonna get grim at some points. i'll provide warnings in the end notes (for example, right now would be a good time to SCROLL TO THE END NOTES FOR CHAPTER SPECIFIC CONTENT WARNINGS IF YOU FEAR YOU'LL NEED THEM!), but do be aware of that.</p><p>anyways, let's get going!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Nazi’s name wasn’t entirely accurate to who she was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking at it objectively, she was a bit further economically right than the ideology known as National Socialism (though most knew that particular woman wasn’t far behind her, despite what certain foolish humans claimed about her name being literal). More accurately, she should have just been called Fascist, but Ancom’s nickname for her ever since moving into Ancap’s house had stuck. So, Nazi it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not like she hated it, really. That particular group certainly had points she admired deeply- their devotion to purging degeneracy and weaklings, strict enforcement of order, their staunch battle against (((them))), it was all perfectly good by her books. Hell, she’d been out there with them historically, fighting for her </span>
  <em>
    <span>volk</span>
  </em>
  <span> against those who threatened her pure way of life. That was where she’d met Commie for the first time, now that she thought about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her thoughts always ran back to Commie lately, huh? Nazi groaned, shaking her head and returning to her sewing. She’d gotten back into it after decades of neglect- a proper habit for a proper woman. Sure, she wasn’t good at it, and Ancom would probably prattle on about how none of them were even technically human, so why conform to human gender roles…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Ancom wasn’t here right now, and fuck her opinion anyways. Nazi was going to sew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The living room was a nice place to indulge in a hobby, if only on days like these when the anarchists were out on some likely-degenerate business. Ancap at least ensured the sofa was high-quality (Nazi was fairly sure some of her governments had made lucrative deals with the manufacturer before- human rights records be damned, only bleeding heart libtards cared about those pesky child labour allegations. Besides, they were made in Indonesia, so they’d be brown kids anyways), making for a comfortable place to settle down in other her work. Nazi was puttering away on an old blouse, replacing some broken buttons and mending holes- though she was inclined to just buy a new one, the pretty thing had some sentimental value, and it was a good warm up before trying to make something new anyways. Though she’d been working at this particular hole for a while now… The stitches never lined up right, and the fabric came out bunched up and crooked. That wouldn’t do. At this rate, all she’d have to show would be some new puncture holes from the thread she kept inserting then pulling out. What should-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have enough pins holding it together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nazi, though she’d deny it if asked later, made an embarrassing shrieking noise, dropping the shirt in her lap and whipping her head up so quickly that her military cap fell right off her head and onto the sofa beside her. Commie stood across from her, coffee mug in hand, looking at the rightist with the usual unreadable gruffness sprayed over her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Commie. Easily six feet tall, mostly leg, with deep red hair unconfined by her ushanka and falling down her back in thick waves. Though her face bore scars from years of war, there remained a certain feminine quality, the kind of woman who would have been a mother physically capable of both bearing and raising a lovely, large brood of Aryan children had it not been for her unfortunate Slavic roots getting in the way of a pure bloodline. Despite that inherent genetic inferiority, Nazi knew some of her own allies had fallen victim to the communist’s allure in the past. And how could they be blamed for it, with the way she wore that form fitting uniform? Long trenchcoats do nothing when you leave them open and have a chest constantly threatening to break buttons off your shirt! And since when did Commie  switch her old skirt out for </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> one?! Had that goddamn slut Ancom influenced the other leftist so much as to get her into a pencil skirt so short that her thigh holster and accompanying Makarov were perfectly visible? And don’t get her </span>
  <em>
    <span>started</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the boots-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other woman moved to place a hand on her hip, and Nazi’s vision snaps up to an unimpressed looking Commie, red eyes slightly narrower. “Done checking me out, or would you prefer I take a new angle for you to inspect?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sarcasm dripped from her voice, and Nazi can feel her cheeks filling up with redness, teeth grinding at the back. “I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> ‘checking you out’, you goddamn degenerate. I was just caught off guard by your hooker getup. Are your workers going hungry again? Picking up a little ‘side gig’ to pay for their bread?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Firstly, even CIA reports consistently showed that Soviet citizens ate as many calories as Americans, so as Ancom might say, ‘die mad about it’.” Ignoring Nazi’s eye roll, Commie leant back against the living room wall. “Secondly, all that has changed is my skirt. I am simply trying something new. Much like you are, if your little mending job is anything to go by.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not new, just out of practice-!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me about it.” Approaching the couch, Commie put her mug on the coffee table before swinging around to take a seat beside Nazi, shuffling in all too close as she stared in judgement at the fascist’s handiwork. “As I said, needs more pins.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huffing, Nazi made a large motion of scooting away from the communist, turning her head up. “I’ll sew how I please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like seeing fabric and thread wasted. Here.” Leaning forth towards the table that held most of Nazi’s sewing supplies, Commie plucked the pincushion up before pulling a few pins from the stitched plush, forking them over in Nazi’s direction. “Just use a few more and your fabric won’t bunch so much. Hole will be gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grinding her teeth, Nazi would have taken a minute to weigh the pros and cons of accepting aid, but it looks like that wasn’t an option- Commie all but dropped them on top of the blouse before standing up and pulling her long hair to the front. Nazi, under other circumstances, might have snapped back with some comment about making sure she didn’t catch lice again (and whether or not the other woman really did have them back in that Chilean torture camp, Nazi would be lying if she said she didn’t take a certain glee in watching the communist’s heartbroken expression as one of Pinochetism’s agents forcibly sheared her of her crowning glory), but something very peculiar happens. Blue eyes narrow in on the smooth curve of the base of Commie’s neck, pale skin unblemished and soft, and she’s suddenly tripping over her own words. “T-That’s-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waving her off dismissively, Commie turned her head over her shoulder to regard the fascist passively. “Not interested in arguing. I agreed to let Anarkiddy practice their palm reading on me in exchange for them reading some Engels with me. It’s rare that they agree to read theory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mention of the anarchist is at least enough to ground Nazi in a firm sense of disdain, and she pulls one of her long blonde braids forwards to toy with in irritation. “Come on. She calls herself a girl, so call her a she.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The passive glance turns a bit icier, a bit harsher, and Nazi is more than a little confused by the sudden pang of heat in her gut. “I don’t always understand why they identify as a woman yet prefer ‘they’, but it doesn’t matter. It’s what they are comfortable with, and it’s not a burden to me at all. I respect my comrades.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever. Go play commune with the little degenerate, see if I care.” Reaching over to grab her displaced hat and set it back where it belonged, Nazi huffed in irritation as Commie rolled her eyes before making her exit. It wasn’t until the firm sound of her boots on the floor faded from earshot that the fascist felt her body lose tension she wasn’t even aware she was holding onto, leading her to sigh deeply and drop her sewing onto the coffee table. Who gave a fuck about extra pins? It wasn’t any of Commie’s goddamn business, anyways. Fucking leftists, sticking their noses where they weren’t wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>… Her eyes drifted to the mug next to her temporarily-abandoned blouse. Commie seemed to have forgotten her coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t know what inspires her to lean forward and pick it up. Later, she could lie to herself and say she was thinking about spitting in it, but truthfully, the thought never passed through her mind. Holding the thing in carefully manicured hands, Nazi allowed her gaze to run over the ceramic mug. It was probably one of Ancaps that Commie had ‘collectivized’ at some point, as Nazi couldn’t see the communist purposefully choosing a mug with with a Gadsen snake on it. A totally-not-creepy sniff leads her to the conclusion that it was simple black coffee. How like Commie. Boring, practical, bitter. She almost puts it down before noticing the light sheen on the rim that catches in the light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A slight, shimmering outline is visible in a very recognizable pattern. Commie had left a lip gloss mark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The communist was never one for ‘bourgeois decadence’ or whatever bullshit she yammered about, but that didn’t mean Nazi didn’t know about the modest collection of cosmetics in a simple red bag on the bathroom shelf shared between the four housemates (yes, getting ready in the morning was hell). Commie still took care of herself, and the colourless gloss was proof of that. She could at least respect her fellow authoritarian for her subtle beauty techniques- nothing at all like the gaudy shit the anarchists caked onto their faces each morning. No, Commie had a more natural beauty- harsh from time to time, but strong. Unyielding. Overwhelming enough that Nazi sometimes found herself getting a jolt of adrenaline that she’d never known outside of war when the two bickered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>… When did the cup get so close to her own lips?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nazi blinked, realizing her mouth was only inches from the rim- from the very spot Commie had left that lip gloss stain. Fuck. When did she do that? Hurrying to put it down without breaking it (lest she get an earful from Ancap), the fascist moved to push the mug as far away from her sewing as she could, as if it had burned her to touch. The hell was that all about? Moving with sudden nerves to adjust her tie, Nazi tore her eyes off the offending mug and over to focus on her abandoned sewing. Why didn’t she just do this in her room again and avoid this whole conundrum? Ah, right. Ancap’s nice living room. All decorated in golds and designer brands and with the delightful floral, metallic scent that indicated there’d been a whole lot of cocaine tossed around in here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ugh. Nazi was really the only one in this house with moral convictions, wasn’t she? The others just existed to annoy her. Fuck Ancap and her increasingly obvious drug problem, fuck Commie and the uncomfortable emotions she was pointedly going to ignore right now, and fuck Ancom in general. She was going to sew, and she would enjoy it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Commie was right. The extra pins wound up saving the shirt.)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Nazi managed to keep it together for two whole days before the next major crack occurred in her carefully maintained mental state.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d gotten back from a… cookout… later than she’d expected to, and it seemed like the rest of the household had gone to bed. It was almost unnerving being in a silent house- never a dull moment with those three chucklefucks- but it was admittedly pleasant to have a moment or two to herself. Enough time to brew some tea, anyways… Or it would have been had there not been a banging at the front door just as she put the kettle on the stove.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this hour? Nazi swears that if it was one of those goddamn Jew debt collectors that floated around Ancap, she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>playing by that stupid NAP thing. Ancom had left her baseball bat by the entrance, which the fascist was fully prepared to grab as she swung the door open in annoyance, but it turned out to be unnecessary, despite the notably non-white face staring back at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman appeared to be of Asian descent, straight black hair cropped in a bob cut that contrasted with pale skin and piercing red eyes- a good indicator that she was Authleft, though the green hat with a red star would have been a pretty big tip off even without the signature colour. Regardless, Nazi was less concerned about what ideology this was and why she was barely holding up a mumbling Commie who was missing a shoe. “... There’s a story behind how all this happened, I’m sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep, but I’m in no mood to tell it.” Nazi stumbled a bit as Commie was abruptly pushed into her arms, the fascist struggling to handle the sudden weight while the new woman crossed her arms. “I’m Maoist. ML mentioned she was doing that ‘Centricide’ thing with the other corners, and you certainly don’t look like Ancom or Ancap, so I guess you’re Nazi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You guess correctly.” Finally finding a more comfortable position as Commie giggled against her shoulder, Nazi quirked at eyebrow at Maoist. “Who’s ML, and what in Evola’s good name happened to Commie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maoist sighed. “Are you for real? Goddamn</span>
  <em>
    <span> gweilo</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You’re holding ML. Marxist-Leninist. You seriously just call her Commie? There’s, like, ninety communists in our quadrant alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She calls me Nazi and that’s not my real name, so she doesn’t get any special treatment.” Why did she even need to defend herself against this inferior specimen? Commie’s incoherent mumbles were only making things worse. “And you didn’t tell me what happened to her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl shrugged, going in her skirt pocket and pulling out a pair of car keys with a dangly panda keychain. “What’s it look like? A bunch of us went out drinking and she got blasted. Can you take care of her? I’d stick around and tend to her, but I’m the designated driver and I need to get Juche and Baathist home before they violate the Geneva convention any more than this night already has.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if on cue, there were a pair of shrieking laughs from the beat up van at the end of the driveway. Nazi sighed, shifting Commie’s weight in her arms. “Fine, fine. I’ve got her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a wave goodbye and a shout in (presumably) Chinese at the girls in the van, Maoist turned on her heels, and Nazi was left to close the door with her foot all while holding up a stumbling Commie. Gritting her teeth, Nazi inhaled sharply only to be met with the pungent scent of vodka. “Goddammit, Commie. Warn us before pulling these stunts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Giggling, the taller woman swayed a bit before wrapping her arms around Nazi’s shoulders, the fascist freezing up instinctively and having to brace against the wall to avoid bringing them both down. “Ahaha… Oh, Nazi. So much fun. Deaaaath to… Imperalists…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Yeah, Commie had a solid six inches on her in height and probably about forty pounds in weight. No way she was getting her up the stairs to her bedroom. With an angry sigh, Nazi pushed off the wall, all but dragging the Internationale-humming girl to the living room couch. “You’re sleeping here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmhmm.” Stretching out, Commie… did something that looked like an attempt to squirm out of her trenchcoat, but that just left her wriggling around helplessly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was this waste of a woman truly the ideology that had made the entire world shake its knees? Exhaling sharply, Nazi reached down to help pull the girl’s trenchcoat off, throwing the red garment on the floor haphazardly. “This sort of behaviour is unbecoming of you, Commie. If I hear you throw up in the night, I’m not coming to…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. She was asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nazi stopped to stare for a minute, first at the almost peaceful way her chest rose and fell instantly after tumbling into an alcohol-induced slumber, but… Then at the way one leg hung off the couch. She hadn’t stopped wearing that short skirt (Ancom’s influence, she was still sure of it!), and with her legs spread wide open like that…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She should do the proper thing and close them. Just… Grab the thigh and push both legs on the couch. Solve the problem there and then, right? Easy peasy. So why did Nazi’s throat suddenly dry up at the sight of pure white panties? Why did her fists clench tightly enough to leave nail indents in her palms?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All good questions. None of which Nazi could answer right now. Getting contact drunk was impossible, but she’d have believed you if you told her that’s what had happened- anything to explain the sudden rising of heat over her entire body, the heartbeat picking up with each minute. Nazi’s mind scrambled for justifications, for solutions, and all that she found was one simple query:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Commie claimed to be a woman of the people. It was the base of her ideological standing. So… So surely someone like that wouldn’t be secretly splurging on extravagances like luxury undergarments, would she? Leftists always lied, the two faced degenerates. It was only right to investigate and see if that was the truth. Nazi owed it to her followers to decry left-wing hypocrisies whenever she could! Flimsy, but it did lead to trembling hands moving to Commie’s skirt, gently pushing the hem up so as not to disturb the sleeping woman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her panties… Were quite ordinary, actually. Plain white, bikini style, no lace or frills. Sort of disappointing- and that was definitely only because Nazi was hoping to find some sign of her not practicing what she preached! Not any other reason! Because that would mean she was…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>… She should check her bra, too. Just in case</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck are you doing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, screamed the little sensible voice in Nazi’s head, always around to remind her of basic social rules such as: </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t fucking strip the drunk woman, you aren’t a fucking dyke, what’s wrong with you?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Fun little tidbits, really, but something else was powering the fascist as she unbuttoned Commie’s shirt. She… She couldn’t place it, really, but she’d felt this rush before. Years ago, when territories were conquered and people subdued, when she stood over another hard-fought victory. When she’d taken what she wanted because she </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserved </span>
  </em>
  <span>it, to hell with the opinions of sheep!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hands are no longer trembling, and Nazi finds herself both aware that her facial expression must have dipped into something downright </span>
  <em>
    <span>treacherous</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and also that she doesn’t care. Alcohol be damned, power was an even better intoxicant, and as she looked down at the oh-so-high-and-mighty Commie, passed out drunk with her skirt flipped up and her shirt buttoned down to her stomach… She feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>strong.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could ruin your life before you even woke up,” She mumbles, leaning down and placing a digit under Commie’s chin. “Strip you further and take photos. Drop you out in the alley for the scum to do as they pleased with. You’re so utterly helpless, you know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Commie says nothing, which is just as well. Nazi kneels next to the couch, running her fingers from the other authoritarian’s chin to where her cleavage met. “No wonder men from my side salivated for you in war. Oh, you acted so proud, but look at you now. The strong rule the weak- we both know that. So why shouldn’t I be allowed free reign over you? To take exactly what your body is offering me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hands glide to the top of Commie’s bra, another disappointing plain white, but that hardly matters right now. Nazi is drunk on power, each carnal urge from before screaming for her to </span>
  <em>
    <span>take what you want, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and as she moves to pull the cups down-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kettle from so long ago reaches a boiling point, letting out a shriek on the stovetop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s like a sobering hit, and Nazi shoots backwards like she’s been shot, scrambling so fast on her hands that she feels carpet burns almost instantly. Stumbling to her feet, she bonks her head off a bookshelf, biting her tongue to keep from shrieking out in pain. She tastes blood, but even worse is the fact that Commie is </span>
  <em>
    <span>stirring.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s maybe never ran so fast in her life as she did in the bolt to the kitchen, instantly grabbing the kettle from the stove and dumping the boiling water in the sink with a grand </span>
  <em>
    <span>hiss.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Even so, her heartbeat in her ears is deafening, and it’s an agonizing forty seconds for Commie’s little mumbles to fall back into contented sleeping noises. Oh dear god. Oh dear god, she’d almost woken up during- when Nazi was-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> she doing?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nazi grabs at her stomach, a wave of cold fear and nausea hitting her like a train. She doesn’t throw up, but she’s hunched over the sink just in case, heat from the recently-poured water doing little to reduce the icey numbness over her entire body. That… No, she couldn’t have… That was a very normal reaction to having your enemy under your control! And they were enemies- fascists and communists didn’t have a reputation for playing nice. Of course she’d have a need to toy with her prey. Commie would do the exact same thing, she’s sure of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(Why does your body tingle at the thought of your roles just now being reversed?)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She buries her face in her hands, breathing hard. No, no. She can’t do this now. She’s tired, it’s late, she needs to get some fucking sleep. She’s not Ancap, she can’t snort coke and stay up for three days. Nazi inhales sharply, exhales sharply, removes her hands and settles them at her waist with a firm sigh. Power. Just the exchange of power. That’s all that was, and she wouldn’t tolerate any further thought on the matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even so, she takes the long way upstairs. Perhaps some part of her can’t face the partially stripped Sleeping Beauty in the living room. Commie wouldn’t remember a damn thing- she’d wake up, Nazi would say she’d partied too hard, and that Maoist woman would back her up. All good. All bases covered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even so… Some part of her knows Pandora’s box has been opened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes some time for sleep to reach her that night.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. of my virtue i am justly proud</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm back!! thanks so much for your kind comments, they truly do mean the world to me, and i love reading them!!</p><p>so here we are again! more romantic/sexual/general repression from nazi! parties are attended, fantasies are had, bread is baked- all the good stuff. so right now i have us pegged for five chapters, but that could change depending on how many words it takes me to get to the planned ending/if i want to add any additional shit in between. </p><p>here's your warning to READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS IN THE END NOTES if you're at all worried about the kind of stuff that could pop up here (check the updated tags perhaps?), and let's go!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If there was one thing Nazi had to be thankful for, it was that brutal Slavic drinking culture. Commie had zero problem accepting Nazi’s story that she’d come home mostly undressed before crashing on the couch, and even pitched the offer of bringing her some homemade perogies as a ‘thank you’ gift. Nazi had turned that one down- partially because she didn’t trust Commie not to poison her, but also thanks to the nagging guilt in her stomach as she recalled what actually happened that evening. </p><p>Stripping her down, whispering those things that mortified her to even think of now… Nazi had shoved all those memories to the back of her mind, outright refusing to address any implications that came with her behaviour. So when Ancap came a few days after the Commie incident with the notice that Libertarian was hosting a gala and that they should all go to build support for the Centricide, Nazi was deeply grateful. She needed a distraction, and if that meant a gaudy party with the Librights, then so be it.</p><p>Though, things were… Slightly different now that she was there. </p><p>Libertarian certainly spared no expense here, that was certain. The mansion hosting the event rivaled some of Nazi’s greatest empires in how lavish it was. Rows of expensive food (and Nazi was considering snitching on Ancom, who was obviously hiding breadsticks in her purse for later), waiters and waitresses bustling about, live music- all to the backdrop of towering pillars, high ceilings, and gorgeous views. Delightful, really, but… She stood out. This was a Libright party, women prancing about in either ostentatious outfits or barely anything at all, and Nazi was acutely aware that her long sleeved, baby blue sheath dress and low heels didn’t quite match up. Huddled against one of the pillars as the rest of the party carried on, Nazi found herself nervously sipping champagne and trying very hard to go unnoticed.</p><p>One hand went up to check that her hair was still in place, more out of a need for something to do than anything else. She’d swapped her ordinary chest length braids for a double dutch braid bun, a style that took a lot of time and cursing at the mirror to do by herself, and all for a party where she found herself completely alone. What a load of shit. Why’d she even agree to come? Ancap could network just fine by herself. </p><p>A movement out of the corner of her eye catches her attention, and Nazi feels her grip on her glass tightening as Commie slides in next to her, resting her own back against the same pillar. “The damn kulak and her friends just can’t resist wasteful decadence, hm?”</p><p>The taller woman was dressed in a red silk pantsuit, possibly the nicest thing Nazi had ever seen her wear (she supposed Commie kept it around just to flex on Ancap in situations like this). Nazi pointedly avoided the way the low button down showed off ample cleavage in favour of staring out at the crowd. “It’s disgustingly depraved. But you’re the only person more out of place than I am.”</p><p>Commie chuckles, reaching up to adjust her ushanka. Despite the delicate way she’d styled her usual loose waves into more defined curls, the communist insisted on wearing her usual hat (Nazi had a half-serious theory about it being attached to her head). “Tell me about it. Even Ancom abandoned me to go do coke in the bathroom with Minarchist.”</p><p>Sighing deeply, Nazi took another sip of her champagne before speaking. “As expected of her kind. Mexicans can’t resist vice.”</p><p>Quirking her eyebrow, the communist tilted her head. “Putting aside the incredible amount of racism there, I’m relatively sure Ancom was born in Spain.”</p><p>“That’s what she wants you to think.”</p><p>Letting out a breathy chuckle and shaking her head, Commie turned back to observe the crowd, both women falling into silence as the party swelled on around them. It was odd- the two authoritarians didn’t really spend that much time alone, at least not half as much as the anarchists did with each other. But she supposed that in situations like this, you cling to anyone even vaguely similar to yourself, and with Ancap fluttering around networking, Commie really was the only option.</p><p>Even so, just basking in her presence…</p><p>It was nice. Maybe the mood wasn’t the most comfortable, but it certainly wasn’t <em> bad. </em>Watching the other ideologies was slightly interesting, at least. </p><p>The ambient music running through the grand house started to quiet slightly before picking up in a different tone, and judging by the excited squeal Libertarian emitted as she rushed towards Ancap, it looks like she knew the reason for the change. Quietly observing, Nazi’s ears finally deciphered what was happening- the music had shifted to the opening of a jazzy swing tune, one she could remember hearing on her gramophone back when she was huddled in a tiny German apartment while plotting her eventual takeover. Not really that odd of a choice coming from Libertarian- the twenties were a time of moral decay, but also a time of great wealth acclimation for a select few. Of course the Librights would have fond memories of such an era.</p><p>There’s a nudge to her shoulder, and Nazi turns her head to see Commie offering up a small smile. “You know what Ancap says about the both of us? That we don’t know how to have a good time. I think we show the kulak up together.”</p><p>It takes a minute for that to process, but when it does, Nazi’s cheeks pinken abruptly. “I-I’m not dancing with you! This music represented the start of the great cultural decline, I don’t even know how to-“</p><p>“Nazi, I’ve seen very particular photos of you from Weimar dance halls. You may be better at swing dancing than I am.” While Nazi’s pink cheeks rapidly bloom into a deep red at the memory of those days before her rise to power, Commie takes the opportunity to step away from her side, turning to her and offering out a hand. “I know the man’s steps. Loosen your collar a bit, mm?”</p><p>While the thought of shirt collars being loosened nearly brings back uncomfortable memories from several days before, Nazi manages to swallow back any vague guilt in time to actually consider her options here. The song was still building up a bit, and she could see a giddy Ancap holding Libertarian’s hand and getting into a dancing position, both Librights bearing flushed cheeks. Maybe that was simply a result of all the alcohol, but if she was being honest, Nazi had spent enough time around Ancap while being forcibly subjected to the elaborate psychological torture method sometimes called ‘Right Unity’. She’d seen the way the anarchist’s eyes wandered over other women in a manner that seemed a bit different from her own way of sizing up potential threats, heard the whispers about child wives mixed in with child husbands. Sure, she was disgustingly loud about her wild sexual escapades with men, but there was no way Ancap wasn’t a filthy carpet muncher on some level.</p><p>Nazi, meanwhile, is straight, and that is an unquestionable fact. She is the embodiment of Aryan perfection, a reminder to her men of what they’re fighting to preserve on this earth. She didn’t have to fill the destined role of human women, that of a loyal, submissive wife and a strong, loving mother- she was so much more. She leads her community of strength without slipping even once. As such, she decides then and there, she can afford to dance with Commie. Why not? It would be different if they were men, but two women partaking in a friendly dance wasn’t the same at all. Nazi is unquestionably heterosexual, and thus, there are no unfortunate undertones.</p><p>Something in her stomach still squirms uncomfortably, but it’s easy enough to crush down the second she takes the communist’s hand. Nazi puffs her chest out, blue eyes moving to match Commie’s crimson gaze. “Well, I suppose we’ll prove that degenerate wrong, hm?”</p><p>Commie almost looks surprised at her acceptance, something Nazi relishes in before the taller woman’s expression melts into something far more ambiguous, and the fascist wonders if she’s playing with fire. “Well, comrade, let’s see if we still have it.”</p><p>Before she has the chance to try and mentally run down whether or not she’s ever heard of Commie being romantically linked with a man before, the woman is gently guiding her away from the wall, pulling her into a spin as the music swells. Her skirt twirls, her heels click, and for a beautiful second, it really does feel like the twenties again.</p><p>… Fun wasn’t against the rules. She was allowed to have fun.</p>
<hr/><p>They’d danced for what was probably only about ten minutes, but it felt like so much longer to Nazi. Whatever pretence they’d had about showing up Ancap had been forgotten almost immediately- the music sang on dramatically, saxophones blaring in tune with cellos and drums, and the fascist had found herself actually <em> laughing </em> along with Commie as they swung back and forth, two notoriously serious women letting their hair down as they twirled and slid. When was the last time she’d danced like this? </p><p>It must have legitimately been the twenties in Weimar, looking back. That had to be it. Those times were extremely economically challenging- god, she remembers once leaving a basket of marks outside a store because the currency meant almost nothing. When she’d returned, the marks were still there, but someone had stolen her basket. Bread was almost a full paycheck. But even as Nazi struggled to make ends meet, to reclaim her national identity, she was still a young ideology- fresh on the scene, ready to make a splash! She knew she looked to be in her twenties at this point, but she couldn’t have appeared much older than sixteen back then, eager and hopeful. And like so many other teenagers at the time, could she really be blamed for sneaking out to the dance halls to enjoy some good, clean fun?</p><p>God, it brought her back to better times. Before ‘fascist’’ became a frightening word, when it was something you could proudly claim to be. And even if her dance partner happened to be a filthy communist… Well, that could be put aside. Nazi made a mental note to ask Commie when the hell she learned to dance- didn’t bolshies like her hate capitalist entertainment? Weren’t they more in favour of quietly sitting in a room until it was time to work again? Whatever.</p><p>Nazi hardly even processes that they’ve stopped dancing until she feels the cool wall on her back, realizing Commie has led them right back to where they stood before. The woman is catching her breath, tilting her head back as she chuckles amongst deep inhales, and suddenly it’s Nazi who’s lacking in air. “I’ll be damned! I haven’t danced like that in decades. You weren’t nearly as bad as I thought you were going to be, <em>Malishka.” </em></p><p>God, she needed to brush up on her Russi- actually, fuck that multicultural nonsense, Commie needed to use more English. “Mali- What was that?”</p><p>“Hm?” Adjusting her ushanka, it looked like Commie took a moment to process what she’d said, eyes widening a bit as everything clicked. “Oh! My apologies, that one slipped out.”</p><p>Most notably, that wasn’t an answer. Taking a few steps forwards to grab another glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter, Nazi joined Commie back against the wall. “Well, what does it mean?”</p><p>“Not getting me one too? Unchivalrous, Nazi.” Commie’s tone wasn’t serious at all, the woman stuffing her hands in her suit pockets. “Mm… <em> Malishka </em>doesn’t quite fit you, actually. Now, what shall I call you?”</p><p>Commie got into these jovial, playful moods sometimes, and they were always so goddamn weird. Nazi rolled her eyes. “Call me Fascist. That’s my name.”</p><p>“It’s a terrible word. How about…” Bringing one hand to scratch her chin, Commie’s eyes lit up, hand moving in a finger-gun like motion at Nazi. “<em>Lisichka! </em> That’s much better suited to you. A pretty name for a pretty girl.”</p><p>Despite the annoyance of the communist’s continued refusal to explain what the fuck she was going on about, the word ‘pretty’ followed instantly by ‘girl’ were like a one-two shock to her heart. Did… Did Commie think she was pretty? W-Well, she was, obviously! A beautiful representation of the master race! But... Somehow, it hit differently hearing it from the Bolshevik. This woman had absolutely no reason to be kind to the fascist, and yet, she’d just been gifted with a pet name and a compliment. For the love of (dead) god, why did it feel like everything was catching in her throat all of a sudden? “I- That’s- You’re-”</p><p>“Tankie! Tankietankietankie!”</p><p>Before Nazi could get a word out, a shrill voice pierced her eardrums. Fuck. Ancom was skittering over, whisper-yelling as she all but slid up to Commie’s chest, stopping mere inches from the taller woman (was the little shit wearing heelies with a minidress? Looked like it). The communist’s head turned from Nazi to the newcomer with traces of white powder around her nostril, offering her up attention that fascist felt unreasonably irritated over. “Oh, Anarkiddy. What is it?”</p><p>“Great news!” Moving even closer, Ancom took Commie’s hands in hers, pulling herself up against the authoritarian. The sweetheart neckline of the girl’s green dress shifted as the anarchist squished her chest against Commie’s middle (given that they were practically a full foot apart in height, that was somewhat expected), beaming up at the other woman, and Nazi suddenly finds herself wanting to grab Ancom by the pigtails and bash her stupid, pierced face into the wall. “The table with the dessert is unattended! I’m stea- uh, collectivizing all Libertarian’s fancy cupcakes and stuff! Come on! Let’s do some praxis!”</p><p>Of course the thought of stealing from a capitalist would be appealing to Commie. Smiling down at the other leftist, the left authoritarian briefly turned towards Nazi. “Well, that sounds like my cue. Thank you for the dance, <em> Lisichka. </em>We ought to do that more often.” </p><p>Before Nazi can get a word out otherwise, Ancom is tugging at Commie’s arm, and the communist is following her along into the crowd of people. Once again, Nazi is alone against the wall, this time with a very confusing sense of rage boiling in her chest. Well, she was always up for the chance to curbstomp that shrieking bitch, but now… Now she’s finding herself outright fantasizing about the act of lining Ancom up against the curb and bringing her heel into the back of her head. Shaking herself out of it, the fascist sighs, bitterly taking a sip of her champagne. Why was this so annoying all of a sudden? It was <em> Commie. </em> Fuck Commie!</p><p>… Even so, she finds her heart singing a bit as she quietly runs the Russian syllables over her tongue. <em> Lisichka. </em> She doesn’t know enough cyrillic to look up what it means, but…</p><p>Somehow, there's a charm to the mystery.</p>
<hr/><p>The day after the gala, Nazi is seriously considering asking Ancap to set up a kitchen use schedule. It would prevent shit like this from going down.</p><p>Here she was, innocently trying to boil some pasta for lunch (she’d admit to having a fondness for the dish after her time in Italy), and the stupid leftists were making a damn mess of the other counter while they worked together to make bread. These morons. <em> Just fucking buy some and save yourself the trouble. </em> And yet here Dumb and Dumber were, ingredients scattered everywhere, mixing some nasty looking liquid with flour.</p><p>“Haha, yo, it’s on your face!”</p><p>Nazi can feel the headache coming on from how much she’s heard Ancom today. The anarchist is laughing as she reaches up to wipe a strip of flour off Commie’s cheek, and it makes the fascist want to grab the rapidly-boiling water and chuck it directly to the right (ironically) where the two leftists were puttering about. Commie smiles down at the pigtailed girl, and that only pissed the right authoritarian off more.</p><p>Ancom clearly has a crush on Commie. Nazi wants to kick her first, and then immediately kick herself for not realizing it sooner. Why wouldn’t she? Commie is beautiful, strong, and her new short skirt (<em> why can’t she stop thinking about that damn skirt? </em>) only emphasizes her womanly shape. Of course a little bulldyke-in-training like Ancom would be drooling over her. Last night, she’d looked so happy as she pulled the left authoritarian off on that dessert-stealing scheme, and it had become instantly obvious. </p><p>Shaking her head, Nazi moves to pour the pasta into the boiling water, but another movement catches her eye. Ancom is spreading the dough out on the counter, and Commie is moving behind her, reaching around and dwarfing the anarchist as she takes her wrists in her hands. “No, no, don’t flatten it. Here, knead like this.”</p><p>Commie starts puppeteering Ancom through the motions, and Nazi has to bite her tongue to hold back the hiss of anger. The poor authoritarian doesn’t even know that Ancom likes her, does she? Or else she wouldn’t be playing such a goddamn domestic scene out with her, fulfilling whatever sick fantasy she must be dreaming of. The anarchist pouts, mumbles something about ‘not being a doll’, but Nazi can totally tell- she’s loving this sort of treatment. Commie’s strong arms guiding her, telling her what to do, the probable feel of the redhead’s chest pressing into her back as she moves in-</p><p>
  <em> Oh, Evola, I've been good lately, so please do me a favour and strike Ancom dead. </em>
</p><p>Nazi begins to stir her pasta, but it is not a happy stir (if that’s something that’s even possible in the first place). God, what she wouldn’t do to wipe that little smile off Ancom’s face. She usually wants the bitch dead, but now she thinks she’d draw it out first. Or… Oh, even better. Forget something as easy as physical torture- the fascist knows exactly what she has to do to get the filthy wetback to <em> break. </em> </p><p>Her eyes drift to the left where the dining room sits, narrowing in on one of the wooden chairs. Yes, she could drag that one into the living room, position it in front of the couch. With her superior genes, she’d have no issue getting Ancom bound to one of those, squirming and helpless against her ropes. Finally, nobody running around the house knocking shit over like a fucking cat. But that wouldn’t do all by itself, would it? No, then she’d have to bring Commie in.</p><p>As strong as the communist was, Nazi knows Slavs simply lose out to Aryans genetically- she’d be overpowered, brought to her knees. From there, Nazi would rip at her plackets from behind, expose her ample chest and that boringly practical bra, relish in the shocked, Russian stammering that would no doubt result. Maybe Commie wouldn’t understand what was happening at first, but by the time the fascist had her knocked over and was pulling her panties down, Ancom would have figured it out. God, how horrified would the bitch look? The resulting shrieks of anger would be the only time Nazi was ever happy to hear the girl’s yowling voice. </p><p>God, it would be annoying if she kept yammering, though. What if she- oh, ohoho, there’s an idea. Nazi imagines herself slinking forwards, grabbing Ancom by one fluffy black pigtail, yanking upwards and relishing in her terrified expression. <em> Since you clearly want to taste her so badly, </em> she would coo, false kindness in her voice, smile ice cold, <em> go right ahead. </em> Few things in life were more deeply satisfying than imagining the act of stuffing Commie’s panties in Ancom’s mouth, the girl’s eyes no doubt burning with humiliated tears. Dominated completely, broken into nothing. Fuck, that was a nice picture.</p><p>Makeshift gag in place, Nazi would turn right back to Commie, running her hands down the woman’s sides, relishing in the shivers and eventual gasps that would come as she finally dipped between her legs, hiked up skirt providing easy access to her precious place. Would she be shaved? Mm, probably not, but Commie seemed like the type of woman to at least trim her hair. Still red, carpet matching the drapes, so to speak. </p><p>Nazi would pull at her hair, keeping her upright on her knees if only to ensure Ancom could see everything. The anarchist wouldn’t be able to look away in the same way that you can’t tear your eyes off a car crash, and Nazi smugly imagines the taunts she could send out as she forcefully yanked squeals and moans out of Commie. <em> Be good and keep your eyes on us, and maybe I’ll let you lick my fingers clean when I’m done. And you’ll thank me for it. </em></p><p>Ancom, at this point, would be a sobbing mess, caked-on makeup running down her face as her cries were muffled by the panties in her mouth. Fuck, what an image. Nazi would bite hickies into Commie’s neck while fingering her, marking her, claiming what was <em> hers, </em> proving once and for all that might really did make right- she was the strongest, the most capable, and she had <em> every right </em> to do what she wanted to these weak little bleeding hearts. Eventually, Commie’s legs would shake, her beautiful eyes would roll back as Nazi hit a sweet spot, her mouth would drop open, and-</p><p>Nazi blinks at a loud sizzling noise, and realizes a few things at once. One, her pot is boiling over, and the bubbly water is spilling onto the hot element. Two, her knee-length pleated uniform skirt is pulled up with one hand. And three, she has been subconsciously using the handle of the wooden spoon she was formerly stirring with to rub between her legs, so caught up in her fantasy that she started fucking <em> masturbating. </em></p><p>A wave of fear hits her, and she whips her head to the right. Oh god, oh god, did- no, Commie and Ancom are chatting like normal, working the dough into two little baking molds. They didn’t even notice, or if they did, are doing a very good job at pretending they didn’t. Feeling a very familiar wave of nausea, Nazi hurries to shut the stove off before hustling out of the room, abandoning her (likely overcooked) pasta in the bowl. Fuck it, that was officially someone else’s problem. </p><p>Breaking into a sprint the second she got out of the kitchen, Nazi bolts leftwards and takes the stairs two at a time, almost wiping out at the top but managing to break her fall by slamming into her bedroom door. Fumbling with the key and swearing under her breath, the blonde finally manages to unlock her room, all but throwing herself inside as she slams it behind her. Falling down onto her knees, Nazi does something she’d never in a million years let anyone else see her do.</p><p>She curls into a ball, covers her mouth with one hand, and <em> screams. </em></p><p>She screams in humiliation at the thought of what would have happened if Ancom and Commie weren’t too mentally retarded to notice what was happening five feet away. She screams in rage at herself for having such <em> disgusting </em>fucking thoughts, wondering what was wrong with her to imagine something so vile. But most of all, Nazi is screaming in fear.</p><p>Because despite everything, she is still horribly, desperately, turned on at the thought of having Commie like that. Her mind races- has she ever liked a man? Found one attractive? Of course she’s a virgin, of course she’s never dated, but that’s simply because she’s an ideology! All others like her were women, and she can’t settle down and marry a very mortal human man! Imagine the complications of raising a child consisting partially of pure ideology! But… Nazi has never so much as flirted. She’s always responded coldly to male suitors who didn’t know of her less-than-human traits, but… Wasn’t that simply because there was no possibility of a relationship there? Even though she found herself watching women as they passed her on the street, even though she found her heart racing around that Hoppean girl whenever they were negotiating weapons deals, even though that degenerate Homonationalist had a way of leaving her tongue tied and weak in the knees...</p><p>Oh. Oh dead god. </p><p>Nazi was a lesbian.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CONTENT WARNINGS BEGIN<br/>- General homophobia, homophobic language (lesbophobic language specifically)<br/>- Anti-Mexican racist language (towards a character who isn't actually Mexican but, y'know)<br/>- Fantasies about non-consensual sex</p><p>CONTENT WARNINGS END. CHAPTER SPOILERS BEGIN.</p><p>[nazi, yelling frantically into her phone] SIRI IS IT GAY TO WANT TO CUCK ANCOM ASKING FOR A FRIEND</p><p>god i love writing characters who project their shit onto other people. its just so fucking funny to me writing this dumb motherfucker. also like, while studying fascism (i'm a marxist-leninist and my party did some readings on both older and modern forms of fascism, it was deeply interesting honestly) i noticed that they have this... concept of esoteric, completely-impossible-to-scientifically-prove idea of superiority, this thought that the white spirit was naturally stronger than other races. that knowledge helped me characterize nazi a bit as this detached person who's prone to falling into distracted fantasies and losing touch with reality. it's fucked up but again, v fun to write.</p><p>anyways, thanks for reading! please leave a like or kudos if you enjoyed, and i'll see you soon!</p><p>(oh, commie's pet name for nazi means 'little fox'! bc fascists are conniving, sneaky little fuckers)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. this fire in my skin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>remember last time when i said i predicted i'd have this thing done in five chapters? lol nvm that, i no longer know how long this is gonna take</p>
<p>anyways hi! this is a relatively chilled out chapter aside from the beginning, where it becomes immensely clear what song inspired this fic (in case the main title + chapter titles didn't tip you off). a couple content warnings (CHECK THE END NOTES AS ALWAYS IF YOU'R NERVOUS!) but they're waaaaaay less severe than what's happened up until now.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It really is the one-two punch of the century, isn’t it? First Nazi realizes she’s a lesbian, and then before that even has time to land, in comes the second revelation as her mind connects the dots of the past few days:</p>
<p>She’s deeply, deeply obsessed with Commie.</p>
<p>It can’t be called ‘love’, not really- Nazi knows that all homosexual interest is merely a sick perversion of the natural order, nowhere close to <em> true </em> love. As such, it categorically cannot be what she’s experiencing. But god dammit, her thoughts have been stuck on the communist for days now. She’s overanalyzing every interaction, acting like she’s brain damaged when faced with a pet name or a mug Commie had used, and internally shrieking like a child whenever Ancom comes within arms reach of the redhead… She’s obsessed.</p>
<p>How could this happen to <em> her!? </em> Nazi curls up tighter into her ball, gripping her knees just above where her boots end and releasing a shaky groan. It doesn’t make any sense- she is fascism given human form, her entire <em> being </em> revolving around the purging of degeneracy and the propagation of a superior class of humanity! Lesbianism is unnatural in general, but for it to affect Nazi? It’s an insane contradiction, one that leaves her with only one possible explanation.</p>
<p>It's not her fault. Nazi knows, in her heart, that she wouldn't be like this without corrupting outside influences. She is pure, untainted, a rose amongst thorns leading her people to a just future. All of these sickening feelings...</p>
<p>It's all Commie's fault. Yes. It<em> had </em> to be her fault. That whorish Bolshevik foolishly let a spark grow into a forest fire, and Nazi found herself caught in it.</p>
<p>It's now a question of whether or not the flames will consume them both.</p>
<p>She has vivid memories of what happened to queers whenever she got her hands on power. The sound of anguished screams from those burning alive, the smell of fresh blood painting the walls behind firing squads, the smooth feeling of the stone in her hand before it was launched at the man tied to a post… Nazi knows what will happen to her if those who follow her learn about this. Their sense of betrayal in their fallen angel will make things so, so much worse- she won’t die quickly. Even when she inevitably revives, her new lack of followers will lead her to a horrifying weakness that makes her feel crushingly small to even <em> imagine. </em></p>
<p>Commie, in all her deviant mannerisms, had doomed her.</p>
<p>After a few false starts that lead to her tumbling into pathetic heaps, Nazi manages to get to her feet, although she only manages a few feet of walking before she’s falling onto her bed, rolling over and staring at the ceiling as her stomach twists. What was she supposed to do now? The most appealing option would be to simply ignore it. That would be the best, wouldn’t it? If she doesn’t take any action, she won’t have to worry about any consequences. Nobody would ever have to find out, and it could be her filthy secret to keep.</p>
<p>But… As Nazi closed her eyes, it felt like a film roll scrolled across her blackened vision, memories fresh and vivid. Commie twirling her around last night, smile wide across her beautiful face. Her hair bounced and spun as she did, a wavy ruby-red waterfall that Nazi would never admit to having secretly coveted for many years. The light of the gala had illuminated pale skin, the thick scars over her strong nose and full lips not detracting from the joy of her expression as she pulled Nazi back in to dance side-by-side, her usually serious gaze light and happy as she let her worries go for a moment.</p>
<p>God dammit. Nazi opened her eyes again, gritting her teeth and hugging herself. She couldn’t hold thoughts of Commie back, the leftist plaguing her mind. Maybe it was a stupid endeavor in the first place- what else was there to even think about? Anti-Centrist (or whatever her actual name was, considering she <em> was </em> just a deeply possessed human- Grace or Gwen or something like that) was taking her sweet time in writing up plans for the four extremists, so the Centricide was moving at a snail’s pace. All she had was her housemates, and her gaze always fell back to Commie out of the three. Her disdain for Ancom was self-explanatory (though she <em> really </em> didn’t want to think about the left anarchist after the fantasy she’d had earlier), and Ancap was so low on morals it genuinely made Nazi feel ill. But with Commie… Well, she <em> was </em> a degenerate communist with a foolishly idealistic view of egalitarianism, but at the same time… It was like she understood the true burden of a legacy, carried herself with solemn grace and strength. Like what Nazi had learned the hard way fighting her during the Dirty War,  where it turned out that Commie’s peasant skirts and traditional blouses were often simply cover for a concealed pistol, she was truly beauty hiding bullets.</p>
<p>Fuck, she couldn’t keep doing this. Burying her face in her hands, Nazi inhaled sharply, holding back tears. Crying was <em> weak. </em> First a dyke, now a crybaby? She couldn’t be both at once.</p>
<p>So, there it was. She was homosexual, most likely. The panic had passed the worst point, which was at least a minor success. That at least meant Nazi’s mind could start running its usual course of scrambling for justifications, running through her options.</p>
<p>Now, it had briefly flitted through her mind a bit earlier, but Nazi knew she could never marry a human man. She knows ideologies throughout history have taken human husbands and even birthed children of their own on rare occasions, but they were all technically just immortal collections of thoughts and systems given physical form. They didn’t age, always came back when killed, and so the ones that involved themselves with humans were left to watch their beloved families grow old and die while they carried on. It wasn’t the kind of life that had any appeal to Nazi, especially considering that her value as a female was next to nothing if she tried re-entering the market after marriage and childbirth. The men who upheld her made it very clear what they thought about ‘used goods’ and the like.</p>
<p>Humans were out of her reach, and all ideologies were female, goddesses of the modern age to be worshipped like idols amongst the few who knew one of the planet’s best kept secrets. Two reasons why Nazi had never gotten romantically involved even once. </p>
<p>But… Maybe it wasn’t so unnatural for her to feel the way she did?</p>
<p>Okay, think about it. Nazi wasn’t a human, and despite technically being able to birth human children of her own, it wasn’t something she was really <em> supposed </em> to be doing. Any attempt to follow the proper female role of a wife and mother would end in her outliving her husband and children. Did that necessarily mean she had to be perfectly bound to the same rules her followers were in regards to how their genders should behave? Perhaps not. Perhaps she was <em> above </em> that. Her feelings towards Commie weren’t simply those of attraction, they were… Appreciation, in a way. An acknowledgement of her status as one of the ideologies that made the status quo shake in their fucking boots. She and Commie both had that trait- when they threatened to rise, whole nations would <em> cower. </em> Ancom and Ancap couldn’t do that- Ancom’s societies never lasted more than a couple years, and Ancap’s preferred system was a massive joke to everyone who thought about her for more than two seconds. The authoritarians were forces to be reckoned with and who had coated the world with blood when they came to blows with each other. </p>
<p>Maybe if they developed a sort of... <em> Relationship, </em>it would be more than a lustful perversion of human romance. It could be a partnership of strength recognizing strength! Nazi’s mind runs through delicate oil paintings even older than she was, showing idyllic images of women lounging around bubbling streams side by side with no clothing, or pressing kisses into each other’s necks as cherubs floated above. Human lesbianism was perverse, but in art? It symbolized something so much deeper than simple lust. </p>
<p>That’s what this was. That could be her and Commie, two women locking eyes as their bodies pressed tightly up against each other, locked in a perfect, poised grace. Beautiful, heavenly figures so above humanity in their feminine perfection. Venus and Diana, Amaterasu and Uzume, Fascism and Marxism-Leninism.</p>
<p>Without realizing it, Nazi’s body has been draining of tension, limbs stretching out in a more comfortable position on her bed. Okay, okay. This could work. She could handle this. But it did all rest on one thing:</p>
<p>Commie would need to reciprocate.</p>
<p>Well, she’d <em> have </em> to, wouldn’t she? Nazi hadn’t gone through all this fucking nightmarish anguish to have Commie not return her feelings, especially considering it was the communist who triggered this horrid awakening in the first place. Without the mutual reciprocation, that idealized image Nazi carried in her mind simply couldn’t be created. This admiration would be just a normal crush. It would fall to pieces, oil paintings up in smoke, and what would be left would be a fascist dyke with the entire world to lose. She could imagine the flames licking at her ankles as she hung above the pyre, and she swallowed deeply just to remind herself she can still breathe.</p>
<p>Yes, it was only just. Commie’s temptacious way of being had lead her into degeneracy, and Nazi had managed to find a way to claw out of that pit and turn this into a net positive. Any rejection would lead to her falling directly back in, consumed entirely by those who once worshipped her. Nazi rose up on her bed, legs swinging over the side, and she took a deep breath before folding her hands in her lap. No, she wouldn’t let that happen. </p>
<p>Commie would be hers, or they would both burn.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The next step here, clearly, would be trying to curry the communist’s favour. That was going to be tricky.</p>
<p>In a demonstration of how serious she was becoming about ensuring Commie reciprocated, Nazi had gone to a truly depraved corner of the internet- Tumblr. Turns out there were more than a few blogs with cutesy-fied little lists of tips on how to make a girl like you written specifically<em> for </em>girls. Normally Nazi would be up in arms about how how culture had degenerated enough to allow for homosexuals to spread their recruitment tactics through ordinary websites, but that wouldn’t seem right considering she was currently using those tips to her advantage.</p>
<p>Amidst the far-too-daring suggestions such as ‘smile at her often’ (a show of weakness, as far as Nazi was concerned) and ‘befriend her friends’ (she’d actually tried looking up that Maoist girl on social media to give it a shot, but considering that the girl’s most recent post was a cheerful recounting of the first time she’d beheaded a nationalist in the Chinese Civil War, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea) lied one that had caught her eye. ‘Go out somewhere as friends’. Now, maybe Commie and Nazi weren’t exactly friendly enough to hang out together normally, but she actually had an excuse to invite the communist out somewhere thanks to the Centricide, which was how she found herself explaining the situation to the woman in question in the living room.</p>
<p>“You’re positive we’ll find some sort of intel that we can’t simply research here?” Commie had her clearly-well-loved copy of State And Revolution in her lap, temporarily placed aside as she thought over Nazi’s suggestion. “We have computers.”</p>
<p>“The library is the only place that keeps records of the local paper further than a few months.” At least as far as Nazi knew, anyways. “We can locate any historical troubles this town has had and unearth those old memories to curry favour for extremism.”</p>
<p>Commie actually seems interested, a little shimmer behind her eyes that makes Nazi’s heartbeat pick up slightly. “Ah, that’s not a bad idea at all. Learn local problems, solve them for the residents, and gain their support! Implementation of the mass line?”</p>
<p>“Mass- huh? No, no, we don’t actually need to <em> solve </em> them.” Damned communists, always wasting time trying to play the hero. “That’s a misuse of precious time. We just need to make them think we’ll fix their petty issues to get them to follow us.”</p>
<p>The leftist blinks at her before sighing, putting her book beside her on the couch. “You haven’t changed in all these years, <em> Lisichka </em>. I don’t know why I bother.” Even so, Commie stands up, stretching her arms over her head. “Mm, but researching local issues isn’t a bad idea in and of itself. Alright, it’s a date. We should get changed first to try and blend in a bit more, though.”</p>
<p>Managing to hold back her flustered excitement at both the pet name and Commie’s way of describing their outing, Nazi nodded in a manner that she could only hope wasn’t too eager. Ancap and Ancom could get away with going outside in their ordinary clothes, but people had much less favourable responses to military-inspired garb from… <em> Slightly </em> more controversial regimes than they did to the anarchists’ gaudy fashion sense. “Very well. I’ll meet you down here in ten minutes.”</p>
<p>Dipping her head in approval, Commie stands after gathering her book, Nazi taking the chance to skitter out of the room and up the stairs towards her own bedroom. Some part of her hadn’t actually expected the communist to agree to the outing (or their date?! No, that was clearly the idiotic Slav just fucking up her English, but still…), meaning she hadn’t actually put any thought into her outfit. While she wasn’t nearly as interested in frugality as Commie was (Nazi was, after all, still a capitalist- Why shouldn’t she take advantage of the high-quality products her economic system allowed her access to?), it’s not like she was exactly known for extravagant wardrobe choices. Opening her dresser and pawing past countless military uniforms from various eras, Nazi eventually settled on a long sleeved, deep blue midi dress, a relatively recent gift from Absoloute Monarchist on a… Particular German painter’s birthday. AbMon was a strange one with even stranger habits, but she certainly knew Nazi’s tastes.</p>
<p>Switching her uniform for the new dress, Nazi paused in front of her mirror, taking a moment to inspect how she looked from several angles. The outfit, properly so, was very modest, but… Should she perhaps invest in something a bit more eye-catching? The end goal was to gain Commie’s attention, after all, and it felt like something slightly more risque could be a good way to do that. After all, Ancom bounced around the house with a ratty green hoodie over a variety of outfits that made her look more like a cheap hooker than a political ideology, and Commie always paid <em> her </em>so much goddamn attention-</p>
<p>No, no. Quit that. Nazi inhaled sharply, wrapping her arms around herself tightly. Maybe Ancom had it bad for Commie, but as far as the fascist could see, there was no reciprocation there. The two banded together due to their similarly foolish economic stances and pathetic sympathy for the degenerates destroying their cultures- that’s all they had in common. If Nazi started imitating the anarchist, she wouldn’t be able to pull Commie into that picturesque relationship this <em> needed </em>to be, and that would be her undoing. She would simply use her own charms to win over the left authoritarian, and that would be the end of any chance Ancom had at winning this perceived battle. </p>
<p>Satisfied with both her plan of action and her appearance, Nazi grabs a purse before moving to head out, locking her door behind her and making her way down the stairs for the entrance. Commie had beaten her to the punch, the woman leaning against the door and toying with her phone. Any thoughts of commenting about this being the first time she’d seen Commie without her ushanka drained out of Nazi’s mind as her eyes fell on the other woman’s outfit choice of a ribbed red sweater and equally-form fitting black leather pants. <em> Why can’t you go back to your days of wearing men’s military uniforms and stop pulling my thoughts to disgusting places?! </em>All but wrenching her eyes upwards, Nazi cleared her throat, adjusting at her suddenly-tight collar. “Well? Are we heading out?”</p>
<p>Glancing up, Commie stuffed her phone in her pocket, nodding. “Yes. You’ll be alright with that dress on the trip over?”</p>
<p>“... Why wouldn’t I be?”</p>
<p>Instead of turning to the front door like Nazi expected, Commie instead moved left towards the door leading to the garage. “I’ve spent enough money on cabs since moving here, and the city’s public transit is woefully underfunded. So I brought over my motorcycle a few days ago.”</p>
<p>Unable to hold in her surprised sputter, Nazi tripped on her words for a few moments before at least throwing one out that made sense. “Wha- Motorcycle?!”</p>
<p>“You really haven’t noticed it yet? I guess you have no reason to go into the garage, but I’ve taken Anarkiddy out on drives a few times since bringing it over.” While the irritation at the thought of Ancom holding tightly to Commie’s waist on a bike festers, Nazi keeps her expression neutral and enters stiffly into the garage while the other woman holds the door open for her. “I’ve had this one since the fifties. She’s my baby.”</p>
<p>Nazi actually recognized the motorcycle parked close to the wall- the M-72 had never seen production until after World War Two, but she could recall a few meetings of would-be fascist organizations in the USSR getting broken up by KGB agents roaring in on these things. Commie strolls past her, proudly placing her hand on the headlight and patting like she was dealing with a beloved pet. It was enough to make the blonde woman roll her eyes. “You never thought to upgrade it in seventy years?”</p>
<p>Chuckling under her breath, Commie reaches over one of the handlebars to grab a helmet before tossing it to Nazi, who catches it with ease. “There’s that saying in English- ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’, or something like that. Anyways, you do remember how to ride, don’t you?”</p>
<p>“Obviously.” She didn’t spend all those years riding around on her own motorcycle with the Gestapo to not even know how to hold on when someone else was driving.</p>
<p>Smiling in response, Commie picked up her own helmet, fastening the clips over her chin and moving to settle onto the bike. “Good. Well, <em> Lischika? </em> Hop on- that research won’t do itself.”</p>
<p>Thankful for the way the helmet now hid half her face (and with it, the rising blush), Nazi made her way forwards, swinging a leg over the back seat and shifting until she found a comfortable angle. Hesitating for a moment, the fascist swallowed deeply before wrapping her arms around Commie’s waist, feeling firm abdominal muscles against her arms. <em> God, she’s in good shape… </em></p>
<p>Revving up the engine, Commie briefly reached to the side to smack the door control panel, the garage door pulling open slowly as she settled back into her seat, scooting back enough to press her back up against Nazi’s front. Inhaling sharply, the right authoritarian sat in silence as she pondered her options here. Would Commie say anything if she did what the devious part of her brain was begging for her to do?</p>
<p>There was the familiar jolt of the bike starting up, and Nazi took that as her chance, moving to rest her chin on Commie’s shoulder. If the other woman was at all bothered, she didn’t say a thing, merely retracting the kickstand and starting off out of the driveway with a grand roar of the ancient engine. The fascist withheld a shuddering breath as the light scent of rose perfume hit her nose, allowing her thoughts to float into the wind whipping past as they turned out of the driveway and onto the main road.</p>
<p>
  <em> (And as her arms tightened around the communist’s waist, unbeknownst to both women, so did the proverbial nooses around both their necks.) </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>“You really should have googled this.”</p>
<p>Nazi groaned in response, reaching up to rub her temples. The two authoritarians were standing outside the library, Commie leaning against the door displaying a very prominent ‘CLOSED ON SUNDAYS’ sign. “Shut up, Commie. What kind of library closes on a goddamn weekend?!”</p>
<p>“Ones in this town, apparently.” Pushing off against the wall, Commie stretched her arms out, Nazi pulling her own gaze away from the way the slight movement shifted her chest through that sweater. “Well, that was a bust. So what now?”</p>
<p>Even if she wouldn’t admit it openly, Nazi was a lot more embarrassed about this than she’d ever want the left authoritarian to know. Now she looked like a fucking idiot in front of the woman she was trying to woo- too stupid to even check the library’s goddamn operating hours! She reached up instinctively to pull down the brim of her hat and hide her face before realizing her casual outfit meant it wasn’t there, her hand retreating quickly to her side. “Whatever. It doesn’t even matter. Let’s just go home and pretend this whole thing never happened.”</p>
<p>“No need for that sort of negativity, <em> Lischika.” </em> Commie stuck her hands in her pockets while Nazi felt herself flush. “We came all this way. Why not enjoy some leisure time?”</p>
<p>“Don’t pity me-“</p>
<p>“I’m not pitying you.” Voice and gaze firm, that look from Commie is enough to make all of Nazi’s words dry up in her throat. “I want to make the best of the situation, otherwise this was a waste of gas. I have a gift card for a local cafe- we could get something to eat.”</p>
<p>That… Didn’t sound horrible, actually. Nazi realized she hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning, her stomach too twisted with nerves over the thought of asking Commie out on this excursion to even think about food. “... Is it far?”</p>
<p>The taller woman shook her head, reaching into her back pocket for her phone. “I haven’t been, but Anarkiddy mentioned the street it was on when they gave me the card, and it’s only a few blocks away. No more than a couple minutes of driving.”</p>
<p>Putting aside the irritating fact that the little degenerate had been the source of the gift card, there was a certain smugness in the thought of eating a meal alongside Commie with Ancom’s money (in a way). After a moment of consideration, Nazi nodded slowly. “... Okay. That might be enjoyable.”</p>
<p>“It will be.” Stuffing her phone back in her pocket, Commie made for the parking lot on the side of the library, Nazi hurrying to follow. “Come along, let’s get going.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>The drive really did turn out to be only a few uneventful minutes, but honestly, it was the last thing on Nazi’s mind now that they were seated inside the pastel-tinted little cafe. Normally her thoughts would be focused in disdain for the dark skin of the waiter who’d just taken their drink orders (coffee with milk and sugar for her, oolong tea for Commie), but the communist had neglected to tell her a certain fact about this cafe.</p>
<p>“Oh, look. That one likes you.”</p>
<p>Nazi groaned, looking down at her foot, where a certain furry creature was rubbing up against her ankle and purring.</p>
<p>Commie had brought them to a goddamn cat cafe.</p>
<p>Pulling her eyes up from the cat, Nazi sighed, folding her hands in her lap after trying and failing to find something to do with them. “You didn’t think to let me know we were going… Somewhere like this?”</p>
<p>Eyes darting down, Commie held out on her response for a moment to reach down under the table, coming back up with a fluffy white cat in her arms. “Do you dislike cats, <em> Lischika?” </em></p>
<p>God, she needed to get used to that nickname, and fast. Swallowing hard and trying her damndest to keep the blush off her face, Nazi raised a hand to adjust one of her braids. “I like them fine, though I’m more of a dog person. I just don’t think a place we <em> eat </em> should necessarily be full of filthy animals. It’s improper.”</p>
<p>Commie’s laugh is boisterous, a bit too loud for public, and yet it makes Nazi’s heart pound. “Aha, you really are a capitalist in the end, aren’t you? So concerned about how ‘proper’ your settings should be. Back in the good old days, the other workers and myself would just eat lunch right by the side of the fields we’d just plowed, and we didn’t complain even a bit!” The communist pauses briefly to scratch her new companion behind the ears. “Pick one up. I’m sure your mind will change.”</p>
<p>Huffing, Nazi’s gaze flickered back to the cat still rubbing up against her ankle, eventually giving in and bending over to pick the feline up and examine it. It was a pitch black cat with wide green eyes that stared at her curiously as she held it at an arms’ length. A red collar was affixed to its neck (well, <em> his </em> neck, since the name on the tag seemed to be ‘Henry’), and given the missing chunk of ear he sported, it was anyone’s guess as to whether or not he was <em> supposed </em> to have a little stump of a tail, or if he’d simply lost it somehow. “He’s all beat up.”</p>
<p>“And yet he is still adorable. What a statement on how struggle only enhances our beauty!” Though Nazi thought that was definetely a stretch, given that Commie’s own stunning looks weren’t at all diminished by the scars on her face, maybe it wasn’t an entirely incorrect theory. The leftist looked down at her own cat before chuckling, turning it around to face Nazi. “Oh, look at mine! It’s got eyes like the kulak.”</p>
<p>She wasn’t entirely wrong- the incredibly fluffy feline had mismatched gold and blue eyes that only stood out more compared to its mass of white fur. “Well, almost. Ancap’s eyes are gold and purple.”</p>
<p>“If you ever see a cat with purple eyes, let me know.” Her own crimson eyes lighting up suddenly, Commie holds out one of the cat’s paws, moving it up and down gently and beginning to speak in what Nazi could only assume to be her best American accent. “Oh, look at me, I am Ancap! I’m so fancy! I steal workers’ surplus labour value and always leave my filthy dishes in the sink because I’m a spoiled child and think my roommates are my maaaaaaids!”</p>
<p>Almost choking on the laugh that nearly turned into a snort, Nazi had to take a moment to recover. Jesus, that was stupid. So why was it so goddamn funny to see Commie try and fail to mimic Ancap’s bizarre manner of speaking? Almost without thinking about it, she’s mirroring the communist’s act with her own cat, turning him and grabbing his paw before pitching her voice up as best she could. “And I’m Ancom! I screech like a fucking pterodactyl about nooooooothing and smoke inside the house so the whole place smells like a dead skunk!”</p>
<p>Holding her cat close to her chest, Commie throws her head back in a laugh that’s in no way ladylike or dignified, and yet makes Nazi feel a rush of adoration through her entire body. The way her hair fell over her shoulders, the pure joy in that noise… She was beautiful even in her least collected moments, and Nazi holds her own cat closer, desperate for the warmth of something against her chest. Henry the probably-former-street-cat wasn’t her first choice, but he would do for now. </p>
<p>Eventually regaining her composure in time to thank the waiter as he returned with their drinks, Commie wipes a tear from the corner of her eye, smile still stretching out her cheeks. “Ah, I shouldn’t find that nearly as funny as I do.”<br/><br/>“Neither should I, and yet here we are.” Putting her cat back on the ground so she could actually enjoy her drink, Nazi watched as Commie did the same before both women settled back in with their beverages. “... This place isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.” <br/><br/>Commie raises an eyebrow with a smile. “Coming from you? That may as well be a five star rating.” <br/><br/>“Oh, hush.” <br/><br/>“No, I know you like it too much when I speak.” Seemingly not noticing the sudden blush tinting Nazi’s cheeks, Commie raised her cup in the air. “Now, it’s only right we have a toast! <em> Za schastye.” </em></p>
<p>Chuckling and rolling her eyes, Nazi lifted up her own drink, tapping the mug against that of the communist. <em> “Ein Prost auf unsere Liebe.” </em></p>
<p>Sipping her tea, Commie was quick to cock her head afterwards. “Is that how you say ‘cheers’ in German? It’s quite long.”</p>
<p>“It’s, ah, one way to say it.”<br/><br/>As the two fell into idle chatter, Nazi took a moment to examine the situation. She liked to ‘live in the moment’ as some libtard motivational speaker would probably put it, but sometimes a minute to think was just as good as a minute to do. Historically, she and Commie had always been fearsome enemies, going at each other's' throats the second any trouble rose up. But ever since the Centricide began, she’d started seeing a different side of the woman who she was most familiar with seeing through the scope of a rifle. If she only abandoned her destructive internationalism and that infantile desire to care for the degenerates holding society back, Commie could have been fighting alongside her all those times. Now that would have been a beautiful history.</p>
<p><em> But at least now, </em> Nazi thinks as her mind drifts back to the woman in front of her, <em> we can start building that better history together. </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CONTENT WARNINGS </p>
<p>- Internalized homophobia<br/>- Mentions of homophobic violence</p>
<p>CONTENT WARNINGS END. CHAPTER SPOILERS BEGIN</p>
<p>yes i know cat cafes don't usually let you eat in the same space where u can pet the cats. this is my Real Life AU where that's allowed. food service safety standards are for COWARDS and i am NOT a coward.</p>
<p>anyways, thank you so much for reading! please leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed, i LOVE reading what you have to say and it really inspires me to write more! see you soon!</p>
<p>(translation notes: commie's toast is "to happiness" and nazi's is "a toast to our love". shoutout to goose for the german and google translate for the russian)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. it is the bolshevik, the witch who set this flame</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>1-800-ARE-YOU-HORNY? i hope so bc we're back to mildly fucked up porn in this one</p>
<p>anyways, hi! thank you again for your kind comments and kudos, it genuinely means so much to me when i see someone's left one. i'm really glad folks seem to be liking this story! there's no content warnings this time around (aside from what's in the tags ofc), so please enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Yesterday’s outing, despite Nazi’s subsequent and unfortunate discovery that she had developed a cat fur allergy at some point (and all the sneezing that came with it), was actually fairly pleasant. As unbelievable as this would have been to her weeks before the Centricide, it was… Nice to get to talk with Commie as if they were just two ordinary women. Their lives had become somewhat mundane now that they were housed together (in between the chaos known colloquially as the Centricide, anyways), so it didn’t feel as radically out of place as it would have before. Perhaps she had a better chance at succeeding in her romance plot than she’d originally thought. That train of thought was only bolstered by what was to come.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scrolling through her phone in between rounds of Call of Duty and sitting on the floor in front of the couch (sometimes the matches got intense enough that she found herself subconsciously moving further from her seat and closer to the TV), Nazi’s eyes flicked from her screen to the empty doorway as the sound of heavy boots on the floor became audible. In a few moments, Commie filled the empty space, carrying a small fabric pouch in one hand. “Ah, Nazi. I was looking for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you came to play COD with me, one of the controllers is out of batteries.” Ancap was apparently a goddamn Jew and was too cheap to replace them, and this might be the only house in existence without a junk drawer full of free-floating batteries.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Commie just shook her head in response. “No, no. Different reason this time. I need your hair.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“... Come again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, that sounded odd.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>No shit, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nazi thinks as the communist continues on. “Back in the old days, we didn’t always have much, but what we did have were pins and ribbons. My female comrades and myself would take turns doing each others’ hair in nice styles before going out to work. I felt nostalgic and was looking at some old pictures of all of us when I realized I’m out of practice, so I need a head to work on.” Lifting up her little fabric pouch, Commie shook it around slightly. “Anarkiddy’s hair isn’t long enough, and even if the Kulak’s was, I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole. So, I need a model.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blinking a few times, Nazi reached up to touch one of her twin braids instinctively. She’d never seen Commie with any hairstyle other than her usual free-flowing locks or put up in a tight, low bun in the context of combat, but whether or not she would actually turn out to be good at it… It was a wholesome activity, allowing someone to do your hair. Certainly the type of intimate feminine experience that would fit well within the boundaries of the picturesque relationship she was aiming for, after all. Without even thinking about it, she’d began nodding. “... Well, alright. I suppose that’s fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Commie’s face brightened a bit, the women smiling in a way that made Nazi’s breath catch in her throat. “Thank you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lisichka.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You won’t be disappointed, I assure you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll see about that.” Moving to place her cap at her side, Nazi focused very hard on keeping the red from creeping onto her cheeks as Commie snuck in behind her, kneeling and starting to undo her braids. The feel of the leftist’s knees pressed against her lower back were somehow making that task difficult to keep up, so the fascist kept talking to try and distract herself with conversation. “I wouldn’t take you for someone interested in hair.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’d be right for the most part.” Pulling the last hairband from her braids, Commie ran her fingers through Nazi’s hair to smooth it out, a shiver running down the rightist’s spine at the light touch of fingers on her scalp. “I don’t care much for the needless waste of things such as sprays and gels and the like. Hearing the Kulak crow on about how expensive her perm was or how much every one of her hairclips cost… It’s disgusting conspicuous consumption, and it sets unreachable standards for proletarian women. But there’s nothing wrong with enhancing natural beauty with low-waste, ethical products. These hair ties have lasted me a very long time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Nazi didn’t care much at all for product waste or how ‘ethical’ each one was, she could at least appreciate keeping yourself from looking like an overdressed clown. “There’s something to be said about your appreciation of tradition that the other two here just don’t understand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chuckling lightly, Commie shifted around slightly, and Nazi had to hold in an embarrassingly undignified squeak as the taller woman moved from balancing on her knees to sitting with her legs on either side of the rightist. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re literally sitting between her legs-!</span>
  </em>
  <span> Thankfully oblivious to the rapid internal panic growing in Nazi’s stomach, Commie kept talking. “Mm, perhaps we have that in common to an extent. Looking through those photos reminded me that I do miss the old days in the Motherland, working in the fields or factories all while knowing my community was growing stronger as a result of my labour. We just don’t have that anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When were those photos taken?” Nazi’s eyes flicked down to her phone, where she came to realize she’d been typing total gibberish into her notes app in an attempt to seem like she wasn’t focusing as much on Commie as she actually was. Whoops. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The communist didn’t seem to notice, thankfully, and instead pulled back briefly from the fascist’s head. There was some rustling noise, and then Nazi found an old photograph dropped in her lap. “The photographer didn’t date it, but it should have been around the late fifties.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Although a bit grainy, the black and white photograph was still in good shape considering its age. Four women were seated in what looked like a small, dormitory-type room with bunk beds lining either wall, mostly bare save for a few posters and one well-maintained framed portrait of a certain mustached Soviet leader. All appearing to be in their late teens or early twenties (</span>
  <em>
    <span>working and not looking for husbands at the prime of their lives? Communists were ridiculous)</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the women were smiling brightly, their hair tied into braids and buns of varying complexity and decorated with ribbons, a massive difference from their drab looking overalls and clunky workboots. Standing out the most, of course, was a certain recognizable woman near the back. Commie’s hair was pulled into two fishtail plaits along with an ordinary braid running through her bangs and across her forehead. Of more interest to the fascist than the hair, though, was the smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that point in history, she and Commie… Had been on pretty bad terms. The Second World War had just drawn to a close, and while the leftist had emerged with one of her regimes a global superpower, Nazi was pretty much in pieces. On the instances they did collide in the years after, Commie never had more than a harsh glare for her, simply another stern face in the line of police or military facing off against her men. Here, though… She looked so happy. Though she didn’t look to be past her mid-twenties now, she appeared around the late teen years here, young and hopeful with a spark in her eyes that she didn’t have any longer. She bore that scar over her lip, though she didn’t yet have any sullying her nose (</span>
  <em>
    <span>when did that one pop up? The nineties? Maybe)</span>
  </em>
  <span> at this point. Even with it, her grin showed nothing but contentment for her situation. Surrounded by insignificant humans in a tiny dormitory, Commie had never shined more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Swallowing hard and looking for words, Nazi kept her voice steady as she stared down at the photograph, unwilling to look away yet. “... What’s the writing at the bottom say?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm?” Commie pauses whatever she’s doing with Nazi’s hair to lean over momentarily. “Oh, it’s just saying who’s in the photograph and where we are. This was when we worked in the beef packing plant near Leningrad. There’s Svetlana, Vasilisa- ah, she was the one taking the photo- Masha, Ekaterina, and me. I was going by Galina at the time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You Slavs and your names that end in the same letter.” Finally looking away, Nazi handed the photo back to Commie, who took it before returning to her hair. “I don’t even know what the name on your papers is now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The communist chuckled, and Nazi felt her cheeks pinken. “Hah, it’s hard to keep track of. Right now, my passport puts me as Ruslana Chernova. Are you still going by Sabine?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I dropped that one around the turn of the century.” God, it had been a long time since she and Commie had any real contact, hadn’t it? “There was another name between that one, but it’s been Annemarie Ziegler for a few years now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Annemarie.” Commie speaks the name deliberately, vowels rolling off her tongue with a thick accent that sends an unintentional shiver down Nazi’s spine. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Through the abrupt blush that turns her cheeks from pink into a fiery red, Nazi is able to remember Commie saying something like that a couple days ago. It was… Something to do with that nickname. “... That thing you call me, Lisi-something. What does it mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Lisichka?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Commie pauses for a moment before chuckling under her breath. “It’s nothing bad, if that’s what you’re worried about. Isn’t not knowing part of what makes a foreign pet name so cute?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you say so.” Is what Nazi says, but her fingers are digging into the pleats of her skirt. She doesn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>Commie calling it a pet name is causing that awful flurry of butterflies in her gut- she always knew that’s what it was, after all. But the communist outright stating that it was a nickname given in fondness was just… A lot. It was a lot. It made the fascist feel weak in the knees, and she was definitely </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>used to associating that feeling of helplessness with anything positive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Commie manages to draw Nazi’s attention from wrecking her carefully ironed skirt back to her when her hands finally pull away from her hair. “There. All done. Tell me if you like it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fumbling for her phone, Nazi pulled it back up, quickly clicking out of the notes app full of gibberish and into her camera. Blinking a few times as the screen focused in, she found herself staring with lips slightly parted at the image in front of her. Shiny blonde locks had been styled up in a thick crown braid, circling her head elegantly like the portraits Nazi recalls seeing of the queens and princesses from the days long before she was dreamt up. Two loose pieces hung on either side of her face, wispy and wavy as they framed delicate cheekbones and pale skin. It… It actually looked nice. “... Wow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Looks like I haven’t quite lost my talent yet.” Commie speaks proudly, craning her neck down to rest her chin on Nazi’s shoulder, and the rightist has to bite her tongue to avoid letting the anxious gasp escape her lips. The taller woman smiles into the camera, tilting her chin slightly. “Take a photo; you can post it on Twitter.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m still banned there.” That fucking site was so cucked it was unbelievable. You dox </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jewish teenager and suddenly everyone thinks you’re some kind of monster! Putting aside her disdain for (((Twitter))) for the time being, though, Nazi held her phone out a bit further, trying to catch the two of them in the best lighting before hitting the shutter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Commie laughed, breath close enough to Nazi’s ear to send a shameful rush down her spine, and the fascist found herself holding back irritated whines as the other woman pulls away from her shoulder. “If you send it to me, I’ll post it on mine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Won’t your friends be annoyed that you’re spending time with me?” Putting her phone down in her lap, Nazi remained acutely aware of how she was still seated between Commie’s legs, long and mostly bare, and she has to pinch herself through her skirt to keep her filthy thoughts in line.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shrugging, the communist made a loud yawning sound. It was entirely undignified, and Nazi couldn’t think of anything cuter. “Mm, they know we’re involved in the Centricide together. They’ll understand why this is happening.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about after the Centricide?” Nazi blurts out before she can help it. Commie pauses from behind her, and although she wants to kick herself, the fascist knows she’s too far in not to finish what she began. “After we deal with the Centrists, when Ancap kicks us out… Then are we still going to see each other?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a long pause, and Nazi wants to tear her fucking skin off. Before she can do that, though, Commie speaks up, voice painfully unreadable. “... Do you want to?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>More than anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>would be the true answer. Nazi has always had an appreciation for fine art, and as she imagines what she really does want, a portrait by Simeon Solomon is the first to flash by her eyes. The man may have been the double whammy of both a Jew and a queer, but one painting of his… She imagines distant oceans, stone walls and delicate wildlife, a baby fawn walking on wobbly legs. She can feel the soft cotton stola on her body, feels Commie’s strong arms around her, feels full lips pressed up against her jawline. What she wants is perfection, </span>
  <em>
    <span>agape,</span>
  </em>
  <span> discovering </span>
  <span>holiness in a world with a long-dead god. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But instead, Nazi swallows her feelings, shrugs her shoulders, doesn’t look at Commie. “Do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps I do.” It’s Commie’s response that surprises Nazi in tandem with the sudden feeling of fingers in her hair again. Flinching involuntarily, the rightist feels her cheeks heat up as the leftist pats her on the head. “Don’t worry, I’m just adding a ribbon at the base. But if I’m meant to speak truthfully… You’ve changed as of late, Nazi. I can’t put my finger on it, but you’re not the same woman you were many years ago. I won’t push aside the possibility that we could become friends, if that continues.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If you’d asked her sixty years ago whether or not she would ever try and get close to Commie for any non-betrayal related reasons, Nazi… Well, she’d probably shoot you in the head to take ‘inferior brains’ out of the gene pool. But she’d have a good laugh after at the mere </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought </span>
  </em>
  <span>of developing positive feelings- romantic or otherwise- towards the degenerate communist. But in a way… Commie was right, wasn’t she? This past week had been different for her. Maybe it was just the thaw of the two authoritarians starting to let their guards down a bit, but the entire house had felt lighter. But maybe, as she sat between Commie’s legs as the taller woman toyed with her hair…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“... Perhaps we could.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe things could be different this time around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(Although, with hindsight… Maybe that dream was foolish from the start.)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>For a bunch of women well over a hundred years old, the extremists did their laundry like a bunch of lazy college girls- which is to say, rarely. That’s how Nazi found herself right now, cursing under her breath as she dug through the communal laundry hamper for the skirt she’d worn that day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d long since taken her hair out of the elaborate crown braid Commie had given her (though not after keeping it in for as long as she reasonably could) and changed from her uniform into her long cotton nightgown. She’d spent the night going over her beloved copy of </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Myth of The Blood</span>
  </em>
  <span>- and even though it wasn’t his best known work, Nazi considered it one of Evola’s finest- when she finally decided to settle in for a good night’s sleep. That’s when she’d gone to set her morning alarm and realized her phone was nowhere to be found. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A long search around her room and a recalling of her steps had lead her to realize the damn thing was probably in the pocket of the skirt she’d thrown into the laundry earlier, and now here she was, digging through the massive pile of clothes like a beggar child in search of it. Nazi finally grasped a familiar stiff wool fabric, yanking it up and out of the hamper. Her skirt came out, knocking a few other garments to the floor in the process, and the rightist was quick to dig inside the pockets until she emerged victorious with her phone in hand. Fucking finally. Good thing she’d figured that out before someone started the wash.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tossing it back in, Nazi moved to pick up the clothing she’d knocked out of the overstuffed hamper. There went one of Ancap’s blazers, a lone rainbow sock presumably belonging to Ancom, a slutty pair of bike shorts that could honestly be either of the anarchists’, and…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nazi’s hand froze above the last garment. She’d seen these several nights ago. It was one very plain, very familiar pair of panties.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rational thing to do in this situation would be for Nazi to put them in the hamper, walk the hell away, and spend the next hour and a half lying with her hands above the blankets and imagining the least arousing thoughts possible. The first time someone next to her had been sniped in battle, his head exploding like a watermelon all over her right side. The terror of hiding in the Argentinian backwoods from those hunting down former German officers, trying to find a sleeping spot where there was no risk of a venomous snake finding her first. That time Ancom ate two full cans of whipped cream and threw up on the carpet. She could think of many terrible things that could keep her from doing exactly what she wanted to do right about now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she doesn’t do any of those. Instead, she picks them up, feeling the fabric against the soft skin of her palms. Just holding them had to be fine, right…?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Running her fingers over the stitching on the sides, Nazi checks the back for any tag. Nothing- not even the broken thread that would indicate a tag being removed. Did Commie make these herself? She did seem to know a decent amount about sewing if her help with the fascist’s blouse was anything to go by, so Nazi wouldn’t put it past her. It would also explain why they were so damnably boring. Modesty was important, obviously, but wasn’t it just a waste to wear plain things when you had a body like Commie’s? Busty with womanly hips and well-defined muscles… She’d look better in something eye-catching. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In more ways than one, red was Commie’s colour. Wouldn’t she look good in a red lingerie set? Nazi found herself leaning against the wall of the laundry room, panties still in hand, as she started to develop the image of the left authoritarian posed on her knees atop a pure white bed and all dolled up in much nicer undergarments. Something with straps and fine Italian lace, garterbelt encircling her waist and holding up long red nylons. Ah, but Commie wasn’t that type of girl- not at all a slut like the other leftist in this house. She’d be sweetly embarrassed, hands moving to cover her chest while her cheeks flushed a bright pink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cute. Cute. Cute. Nazi slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, long nightgown falling up her thighs as she opened her legs. This was just supposed to be a quick mission to get her phone, not anything else, and so she hadn’t slipped on any underwear of her own before coming. It only made it easier for her to remove one hand from the pilfered panties and slip it between her legs, fingers dancing over her rapidly dampening slit. Mm. Commie would look up at her with big doe eyes, so different from her usual harsh gaze, all batting eyelashes and parted lips as Nazi approached, tilting her chin up with one finger. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who do you belong to?,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she would ask oh-so-gently, and Commie wouldn’t waste a second before replying </span>
  <em>
    <span>you, you, I am yours</span>
  </em>
  <span> in that beautiful, breathy accent that drove the fascist to such degenerate depths as these.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slipping a finger past her opening, Nazi hummed under her breath, closing her eyes and falling deeper into the fantasy. She’d kiss down Commie’s neck, leaving lovebites as her territory markers before moving to unclip her bra, freeing the other woman’s chest to be played with. Despite her rather deep voice normally, Nazi can only imagine the communist making the sweetest mewls as her nipples were tweaked and kissed. Moving further down in her fantasy, (all while subconsciously moving to rub at her clit in the real world), the fascist would slide the leftist’s legs apart, kissing over her panties and drawing more warbled moans out of the taller woman. She’d pull away for a moment only to get her confirmation, that need to hear her former enemy beg her for it, and so she would purr that </span>
  <em>
    <span>you need to tell me what you want me to do to you, Commie.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Please, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the imagined voice of the left authoritarian begs, face red enough to match the panties Nazi pictures herself slowly sliding down the other woman’s legs, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please fuck me, Lisichka, please, I need your tongue inside of me, please-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As her fantasy carries her mouth over Commie’s heat, Nazi holds the real life pair of panties up to her face, inhaling deeply. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The musky scent mixed in with the light salt of sweat is almost too much too fast, and before she knows what she’s doing, Nazi is fucking herself on her fingers. She has the vague continuation of her fantasy’s storyline moving in her head, brief flashes of moans and desperate writhes, but the deeply </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>sensation of the womanly redolent pressed up against her nose is so overwhelming that the rightist can hardly keep up with her own mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thrusting her digits in and out of her cunt without a single care for how she might look to the eyes of the ever-present observer, the one she’s always performing for as her own voyeur, Nazi finds herself completely lost in the act. After so many shameful fantasies, so many close misses, she’s got a pair of panties belonging to the object of her infatuation </span>
  <em>
    <span>right fucking here</span>
  </em>
  <span> and it’s all so real, right in front of her face, and she’s panting like a fucking dog as her rythmn breaks, gasping open mouthed into the fabric and-!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nazi feels her eyes roll back as she cums, completely flooded by the wave of sensation that hit her all at once. It’s several seconds until she’s able to keep her legs from twitching, several more until she pulls her soaked fingers out from her cunt, and just a few more until she lowers the panties and catches her breath, feeling the fresh air (or as fresh as you can get this close to Libright territory) hit her face for the first time in a while. That’s also when everything decides to come crashing down in a truly hideous fashion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m always glad to see that you’re having fun, Nazi, but may I offer a suggestion?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Head whipping around so fast she swears she can hear something crack, Nazi stares with eyes like saucers at the figure illuminated by the light of the hallway. Dressed in a short, outrageously expensive looking bathrobe and wearing those fucking sunglasses indoors at </span>
  <em>
    <span>this time of night, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ancap stood, curly brown bob cut held back by a headband and only emphasizing the sarcastic tilt of her eyebrows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll take your silence as a yes. Perhaps you’d enjoy sniffing Commie’s panties more in the privacy of your own room?”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>dontcha hate when youre just tryin to rub one out and ancap shows up. happens to the best of us.</p>
<p>in any case, thank you for reading! please leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed, and i hope to see you all soon!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. the sun caught in her crimson hair</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>back at it again!!!!</p>
<p>i don't really have much to say before we start off, though there are some content warnings that you can check the end notes for if you're worried! please enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>For a few agonizing seconds, Nazi didn’t move. Perhaps she was convinced on some level that stillness would keep Ancap from seeing her, allow her to blend into the laundry room walls and escape this miserable situation. But reality ensued, and the anarchist just stared her down behind those ever-impenetrable sunglasses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally finding her words, Nazi barely manages to squeak out a sentence. “... W-What are you doing here?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Normally she’d be embarrassed by the way her voice cracked (it certainly didn’t help that she was still short on breath as her body worked to recover from her orgasm), but Nazi was also aware that even the most refined voice couldn’t save her dignity from the situation she found herself in. Ancap tilted her head, and only then did the authoritarian take notice of the laundry basket at the other woman’s side. “First of all, this is my house. If anything, I should be asking what you’re doing here. Second, I came to throw my laundry in the hamper. Do you have any idea how ridiculous it is having to do my own wash like some kind of lower class lout? I would have hired a maid if I trusted any human to keep their mouth shut about us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That… Was fair, sort of. Nazi knew this wasn’t the best place she could have chosen for her moment of sinful weakness. Generously putting all that aside and hurrying to yank down the hem of her dress, Nazi was quick to get to her feet, panties still bunched in her hand. “I- How long have you been standing there?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not long.” Ancap hoisted her basket up a bit, strolling by the slightly-shaking Nazi without a care in the world. “Ten seconds, give or take. It was quite the show, really, but you ought to move that kind of thing to your own room lest the wrong person find you. If Commie waltzed on in to see you schlicking it with her panties, you’d probably have a couple nine millimeter rounds cartoonishly lodged in your skull right about now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nazi opens her mouth in preparation to shriek in rage over the fact that the anarchist had apparently just </span>
  <em>
    <span>stood there and watched</span>
  </em>
  <span> for so long, but instead she closes her mouth, inhales deeply through her nose, and tries again. “... Why do you think they’re Commie’s?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ancap tipped her laundry basket into the communal hamper, shooting a look over her shoulder while she added to the massive pile. “Ugh, do all of you think I’m stupid? Don’t answer that, actually.” Shutting her mouth in response to Ancap’s quick ad-on, Nazi chooses to stare plainly ahead while the anarchist forces all the clothes down in a valiant but fruitless attempt to keep the hamper from overflowing. “It's a simple process of elimination. There’s four women living in this house. One, those aren’t mine. Two, touching yourself to the scent of your own panties is so narcissistic even I wouldn’t do it, so they aren’t yours. Three, Ancom only wears lingerie that looks like it came out of some weirdo knockoff Dolls Kill, so not theirs. Add the fact that those are so boring only a joyless red would wear them, and there’s really only one option left.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God dammit. Fucking Ancap and her eerie observation skills. It’s right about then that Nazi noticed that her teeth were grinding, a low groan at the back of her mouth. Bad. Stop it. She’d worked hard to quit that habit after all the… Necessary stimulant medications… She’d been taking during World War Two, and here it was again. Even as she speaks, though, the fascist knows she’s doing so through clenched teeth and with a rapidly increasing heartbeat. “So what are you going to do about it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hates this, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates </span>
  </em>
  <span>feeling like she might not have the high ground in an exchange for even a nanosecond</span>
  <em>
    <span>,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Ancap doesn’t speak nearly fast enough to keep the humiliated rage from rising like a wave in Nazi’s chest. “Who knows? It’s not all that interesting, but it’ll be funny to tell Libertarian about. Maybe Minarchist would get a kick out of it next time we-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ancap is prattling on so casually as she gives the laundry pile a final squash, and something about it is driving a violent fury through Nazi’s entire body. Her teeth grind. Maybe in a bizarre way, it was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>lack </span>
  </em>
  <span>of anger or disgust on the anarchist’s part causing this rage. Her teeth grind. The worst part was that the fascist didn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>that, she didn’t want to feel the crushing shame that would swallow her whole with Ancap turning up her nose in revulsion, but nothing felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> without it. Her teeth grind. It was wrong on a molecular level, unnatural, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why don’t you call me a degenerate, why don’t you condemn me to death, why don’t you feel how I feel</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Her teeth grind-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a small but audible </span>
  <em>
    <span>crack</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the back of Nazi’s mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s like the gun firing to announce the start of the race, the fascist going from dead stillness to launching herself at Ancap, knocking the entire laundry basket over as she frantically pins the other woman to the wall. The anarchist squawks in outrage, but whatever she says cuts into a pained yelp as Nazi’s sharply manicured nails dig into the thin flesh of her shoulders. The blonde’s voice is low and dangerous as she speaks, the tone usually reserved for interrogations making an appearance. “Your followers have never established you in reality, Ancap. You’ve never been in a war, never had a regime fall. Tell me- have you died before?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even though the anarchist has a few inches on her, Ancap feels so very small up against the hard wall. Perhaps it’s the slightly unnatural thinness that came with a diet consisting mostly of expensive wine and cocaine, but whatever the reason, it shifts the power. Nazi can feel herself regaining her dignity as a gobsmacked Ancap forces out a reply. “Wha- no, I haven’t! Are you crazy?! What the hell did I do to deserve-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nazi digs her nails in with all the force she can muster, feels something give as her claws break flesh, ignores Ancap’s sharp cry of pain as small bloodstains slowly rise above the silk fabric of the robe. The anarchist lost her sunglasses during the original push, heterochromic eyes blown wide open in shock, and Nazi feels a smug satisfaction at the lack of a barrier protecting the other woman. “Here’s something we all know but never speak about: it hurts, Ancap. Dying hurts the entire time. You don’t know what it’s like to feel your life drain away. You have no </span>
  <em>
    <span>idea</span>
  </em>
  <span> how terrifying it is falling into the dark, not knowing when you’ll emerge gasping for breath in a fresh body. It’s like going to hell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not quite so dramatic in reality- she was exaggerating a lot in the name of frightening the anarchist, but Nazi’s words still carried with them a seed of truth. Every so often she’d awaken choked up with phantom pains reminding her of what had once been done- cluster headaches brought memories of bullets between the eyes, agony down her spine from hanging, the brief flash of searing burns through her gut after grenades went off in close quarters- and from what little discussion she’d had with other ideologies on the matter of death, she wasn’t the only one. Ancap, though, wasn’t like the others who sat in the top corners- she had never been implemented in the real world, had never watched her strength sap as her empires did, never had to fight against all odds to be put into power. She was weak. The anarchist had her hands around Nazi’s wrists, trying to pull her off her shoulders to no avail, and the authoritarian simply leant in, voice quiet. “No wonder you’re so different from the rest of us, Ancap. You’ve never had to struggle. And unless you want me to show you what that word really means, you won’t say a</span>
  <em>
    <span> goddamn word</span>
  </em>
  <span> about this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine! Fine! Is that all you want?!” With Ancap’s half-pissed-half-terrified response, Nazi finally relinquishes her grasp, the brunette rushing away from her and turning to face the authoritarian all while rubbing her wounded shoulders, face contorted in a similar mixture of fear and anger to her tone. “For the love of Rand, have you lost your</span>
  <em>
    <span> mind?</span>
  </em>
  <span> You’re lucky I’m not going to inform my private police about this!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite the threat, there’s a certain shine in Ancap’s eyes. Nazi can’t place it, but she does have a theory that perhaps the anarchist’s habit of constantly wearing sunglasses isn’t all in the name of gaudy, degenerate fashion- maybe it’s to hide the fact that she can’t keep her feelings out of her eyes. That look is familiar- the look of captured POWs, of state enemies peering out from bars in interrogation cells, of homeowners when an agent discovers the hidden door under the rug. Behind purple and gold, Nazi sees genuine </span>
  <em>
    <span>fear. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s enough to make her lift her chin in pride, although she keeps her voice clipped. “Just letting you know there’ll be consequences for telling anyone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ancap fires a few choice words at her as she storms out of the laundry room, picking up her sunglasses on the way out, and Nazi lets out a small breath of relief the second the other woman is out of sight. God. What was she thinking, letting herself fall to a point where she was doing something so filthy in a shared space?! The fascist sighed, wrapping her arms around herself and squeezing. At least Ancap seemed like she wasn’t going to mention it to anybody- or at least she wouldn’t if she valued keeping her blood on the inside of her body. That’s what mattered in the end. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>… She’s really trying to ignore something right now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had reared its head the second she’d had Ancap up against the wall, the moment the power dynamic had been thrown completely upside down and the anarchist had been at her mercy. The feeling only intensified when blood was drawn by her own hands. It had become, and stayed, impossible for her not to focus on it when Ancap had let out that shrill cry of pain. Even thinking about the noise that had come from the other woman… Nazi inhaled sharply, moving her hands to clench at the fabric around her thighs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why was she turned on all over again?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Because you’re strong, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the little voice that existed within Nazi’s head solely to justify any and all feelings that deviated from what she deems proper chimes in, </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s a perfectly normal response coming from a superior specimen like yourself. Just your body reacting to victory.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And maybe that’s true to a degree. But even so… It’s not natural for a female. But then again, none of what she was experiencing was. A disgusting deviation from the intended course, degeneracy in every possible way-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, no, stop it. Nazi inhales sharply, releasing the fabric of her nightgown and smoothing it out slightly. She was going to make this work. The first step would be to ignore the tingling starting up again between her thighs. She could acquire that untainted relationship she so badly needed, could represent dignity and feminine beauty through shared closeness just as long as she could capture Commie’s heart in turn. It… It was maybe turning out to be harder than she’d expected, but it was going to work. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to work, or else…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>… Her desperation was growing. She needed to act quickly.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Nazi hadn’t slept all that well that evening. How could she? Even though Ancap seemed like she’d keep what she’d seen in the laundry room private (though she wasn’t happy about it, if the glares sent Nazi’s way the entirety of breakfast were anything to go off of), the entire incident had riled her up so badly that slumber evaded her for much of the night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even so, she was doing her damndest to stay up lest she fall asleep during the day and throw her entire system out of whack. Nazi couldn’t afford to lose time now, especially now as she feared that the darker feelings driving her to degeneracy could be catching up with her. She needed Commie to love her in a very particular way, and how was she going to achieve that by passing out on the couch at two in the afternoon? No, action was what separated the strong from the weak at moments like these. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That said, for all of her strength, she’s having one hell of a time finding Commie right now. No answer when she knocked on the bedroom door, not in the living room, not in the basement- where was she? Nazi was willing to bite the bullet and ask the left authoritarian to read some of her agonizingly degenerate theory with her in an attempt to curry favour, and Commie was nowhere to be found. Her motorcycle was still in the garage, so she was probably still somewhere in the house, right? The last place the fascist had to check was the backyard, and as she slid the glass door open, the sound of a familiar humming voice filled the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right- didn’t Commie take care of that little garden on the left side of the house? Sounded like she was out there if the quiet Russian singing was anything to go by. Nazi was about to turn the corner, fully prepared to make up some compliment about how the vegetables were growing, until a much less pleasant voice filled the warm summer air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alrighty, Tankie, so because we gotta make sure the vines wrap around the trellis-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God dammit. Ancom was out here, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nazi feels her teeth clench instinctively (maybe she should make a dentist appointment after yesterday’s incident). She considers just going back into the house and sulking, but… No, she doesn’t have the time. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Try and find the positives here. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Despite her constant complaining about the anarchist, Commie genuinely did seem to like spending time with Ancom when it came down to it. This could be a good opportunity to learn what was so appealing in the communist’s eyes when it came to the worst person Nazi had ever met. If the fascist recalled correctly, the second story window above the garden lead into the upstairs bathroom- that would be a good vantage point to keep an eye on this conversation from, wouldn’t it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hurrying back into the house (careful to close the door quietly behind her), Nazi made her way up the stairs and towards the shared bathroom. She hadn’t seen Ancap since their awkward breakfast and her car wasn’t in the driveway, so she was presumably out and up one repugnant activity or another. No need to worry about being interrupted. Hurrying across the bathroom and to the window, Nazi slowly lifted it open, careful to lean her head out at an angle that would allow her to see everything that was going on while also keeping her relatively shielded from the leftists’ points of view.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her prediction was entirely correct- Nazi could see the little garden plot very clearly from up here, along with the two women puttering around it. She’d walked in on the middle of Commie’s sentence, so it seemed. “- all the work I did on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>kolkhoz, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I haven’t yet lost all my knowledge about how vegetables are grown.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I worked on communal farms too, y’know!” Ancom looked to be lifting a transfer plant from a tray full of them, gently placing it into a dug-out hole in the garden. “This isn’t my first time growing food.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then with both of us hard at work, we’ll have a lovely harvest in no time.” Commie was kneeling a few feet from the anarchist, spreading some sort of dirt-looking substance around (Nazi was far too dignified to dirty her hands with farmwork, and it was too damn high up to tell exactly what the two leftists were doing). The communist pauses, removing her gloves and taking a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow, and Nazi feels her heart race.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ancom nods enthusiastically, patting down the soil around the transfer. “Yeah! Lots of food for everyone. Now if you’d only let me plant my pot seeds here-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cutting Ancom off (thankfully) with a small laugh, Commie shakes her head, putting her gloves back on. “Anarkiddy, if you won’t let me have a chicken coop, you can’t use up space for marijuana.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eggs aren’t ours to eat! Plus, they’re like periods or whatever. Even if it wasn’t unethical, it’d be super gross.” The anarchist moves to grab another transfer plant, and Nazi notes that the duo aren’t arguing nearly as bitterly as they usually do. It’s more like banter between an old married couple, though the mere thought of the leftists as such is enough to make Nazi dig her nails into the windowsil. “Plus, Ancap would get so goddamn mad if you tried bringing chickens onto her property that she might actually bring out that McNuke thing she talks about.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Next time I’m with the other Authlefts, I need to ask Castroist and Gueveraist to remind me why they didn’t nuke America when they had the chance.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Amidst laughter and banter about Cold War-era nuclear weapons, Nazi is growing increasingly irritated. That’s sort of a given when she’s forced to listen to Ancom talk for any amount of time, but that’s not the primary reason right now. She’s been slowly watching the leftists, whether they were aware of it or not, inch closer and closer to each other. Sure, it could be explained as both of them working on side-by-side areas of the soil, but Nazi knows better than to brush it off as nothing of note- girls like Ancom were sneaky, always taking every opportunity to move in on the people they lusted after. Commie probably didn’t even realize that she was the target of such a revolting campaign. In any case, there wasn’t much she could do at the moment but continue to listen to their idle conversation with a clenched jaw, careful not to stick her head too far out lest she get caught. It’s almost enough to make Nazi take pause- the realization that she’s just hiding away and watching a conversation she really doesn’t have any right to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>… But it’s fine. She is a woman in lo- well, a woman with a passionate interest. It’s simply in her nature to do otherwise inappropriate things in search of what her heart desired, isn’t it? Certainly she couldn’t be blamed for that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nearly done with the tray of transfer plants, Ancom hums thoughtfully, now close enough to Commie to nudge her with her elbow. “So, you done anything fun lately? I haven’t seen you as much as I usually do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been spending more time with Nazi lately, actually.” The sound of her name perks Nazi up, the fascist holding the windowsil a bit tighter. “She’s been more social lately.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ew, Nazi.” Ancom makes a gagging sound, and Nazi holds back a mocking </span>
  <em>
    <span>ew, Ancom</span>
  </em>
  <span> in favour of not blowing her cover over a minor jab. “I thought Authoritarian Unity was just some dumb meme that happens when people get all their understanding of politics from that one political compass subreddit?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Commie hums, sprinkling a bit of mulch around their nearly-finished product. “Usually you’d be right. But as odd as it sounds, I really think she’s changing for the better. She helped me get back in after a big night of drinking, we went out to that cat cafe you gave me the card for- oh, don’t give me that look! I really do think she liked it there!- and she let me practice some hairstyling with her. That doesn’t sound like the same woman we moved in with, does it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sighing dramatically, Ancom stands up, stretching her arms out and rolling her shoulders a bit. Nazi has to lean back a bit to avoid accidentally entering the anarchist’s line of sight. “Mm, I guess. But she’s still a freakin’ Nazi!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, I know. Her capitalist destruction and hand in perpetrating brutal colonialism cannot be overlooked.” Commie wraps up the bag of mulch, seemingly satisfied with the work she’d completed. Nazi felt her heartrate pick up, hanging on every word out of the other woman’s mouth. It was bizarrely intoxicating, hearing someone talk about you when they think you aren’t listening. “I’m just giving her a chance to change, and I like what I see so far. Everyone can be a good person if they try, can’t they?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peeling off her gloves and stuffing them in the pocket of her hoodie </span>
  <em>
    <span>(as if the damn thing needed any more dirt around it)</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Ancom shrugged, rocking on her heels a bit as she turned to face the communist. “It’s just that after a certain point, can you really go back? It’s the… Hm, you’re the one who won the Space Race, arentcha? What’s that thing called around black holes that sucks you in no matter what when you cross it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The event horizon?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, that.” Ancom nodded enthusiastically, low pigtails bouncing around her shoulders. “It’s like… Has she crossed the event horizon? You know most of the terrible shit that’s happened to us over the years happened because of either her or some weird variant of her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While she’s not necessarily </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> on that last bit, the last person Nazi wants to hear it from is Ancom. Commie takes a moment to stare at their little garden, a variety of both transplants and stakes marking seeds, before humming pensively again. The fascist recognizes it from Soviet soldiers during the war- some tune about a girl waiting for her lover. “Only time can tell, I suppose. I’m trying to be optimistic. In any case, you don’t need to get worried, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Koshechka. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She’s not going to replace you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s followed up by Ancom’s laughter, the snickered declaration that “You talk like I’m your girlfriend or something!”, but it’s all blurring together in Nazi’s mind. She falls into a crouch, leaving the view of the window and half-shifting half-falling to sit against the wall right under it. The leftists are still bantering about something or another outside, but the fascist is focused on one word.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Koschechka. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Did she know what it meant? Not at all. But the context in which Commie had said it, carrying so much tender familiarity… It was enough to make Nazi slap her hand over her mouth before </span>
  <em>
    <span>screaming</span>
  </em>
  <span> into it, a level of anger in the muffled shriek that almost surprised her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was all catastrophically stupid. Of course Commie would have a pet name for someone she’d known as long as Ancom- even if their history was rocky, it was certainly more consistent than Nazi’s relationship with the communist. That wasn’t something to be taken aback by in the slightest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the sheer fucking rage that boiled in her gut at that tender name for the little degenerate… It threatened to overflow, spilling out uncontrollably. Nazi wanted to hit something, wanted to throw something, wanted to grab some</span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> by the throat and squeeze down until she felt her windpipe crunch under her hands and every last hint of life had drained from behind those green eyes. The fascist hadn’t taken Ancom nearly as seriously as a possible romantic rival- that was a massive oversight on her part. If the bitch managed to wrap her tendrils around Commie before Nazi did… Just the thought has the blonde seeing red, teeth grinding violently again. Absolutely unacceptable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She needed to figure out a solution. Slowly getting to her feet (hardly remembering to shut the window behind her), Nazi all but shambles out of the bathroom, heading for her own bedroom and flopping down on her mattress with all the dignity of an elephant seal. Head pressed against her pillow, the authoritarian’s mind picks through possible answers to The Ancom Question. Murder was out, as good as that would feel. And although Nazi intended to keep winning the communist over with her own charms (something that seemed to be working to an extent if that overheard conversation was anything to go by), she’d need to ensure the anarchist was out of the race entirely to efficiently secure her prize. Maybe an effective strategy would simply be to find what Commie liked about Ancom and go from there. But how was she going to get at that information? Up and asking would be a death sentence, so she couldn’t-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wait a second.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A particular revelation lead to Nazi yanking her phone from her pocket, eagerly scrolling through her contacts in search of one particular name. She’d done business with this particular woman before, formerly been baffled at why she sent her heart aflutter after their conclusive handshake. Now, though, she wouldn’t be placing any massive weapon orders or putting out a hit- no, Nazi’s needs were much less complicated this time around, certainly within the abilities of a capable professional like this:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Good day to you, Hoppean. How much would it cost me to have you gain access to someone else’s cloud storage?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yes, Nazi couldn’t up and ask Commie what drew her to Ancom. But perhaps her private messages would be more forthcoming with that information.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CONTENT WARNINGS BEGIN</p>
<p>- Minor/moderate violence (depending on how you view these things)</p>
<p>CONTENT WARNINGS END. SPOILERS BEGIN.</p>
<p>breaking into your crushes phone to own the libs</p>
<p>thank you as always for reading! we're in the early endgame here (as in two-three more chapters should everything run smoothly), and i'm really thankful to those who've followed me up until this point! please leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed, and i'll see you soon!</p>
<p>(commie's nickname for ancom is just 'kitten/kitty'. ancom and cat themes go hand in hand)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. don't let this siren cast her spell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>heyyyyy i'm back!! thank you again for all your kind comments, i really love reading them!</p>
<p>so big heads up here- this chapter contains prooooobably the most disturbing content that this fic has seen yet (although it literally only gets worse from here! welcome to hell!). the content warnings are in the end notes again, please read those if you're worried!!</p>
<p>and on a happier note: i commissioned some (much cuter than this fic) lesbian authunity art from @miijiijii on twitter! so if you'd like a visual rep of how the auths look in this fic, <a href="twitter.com/commieochako/status/1287546639125815296">that's right here!</a></p>
<p>ninja edit: wow im still too technologically inept to get that link working properly, uhhhhh just. take all the ao3 bullshit in the linked url it takes you to out and you'll arrive there. goddamn i hate it here</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Thank you again for your help.”</p>
<p>Hoppean grunts in response, counting under he breath as she goes over the stack of bills Nazi had handed her. “Mm. ‘Kay, looks like that’s everything. Here’s those records.” </p>
<p>Under normal circumstances, the intensity of the woman’s piercing gaze as she forked over a plain folder might have sent a shiver down Nazi’s spine. But these were not normal circumstances, hidden away on the side of a building half a block from Ancap’s house to conduct the deal, and so the fascist simply responded with a thin-lipped smile as she takes it in her hands. “A pleasure doing business with you, Hoppean.”</p>
<p>“Yup.” The woman stuffed the bills into her briefcase at the same time as she pulled out a carton of cigarettes. Pulling one out and lighting it in one swift movement, Hoppean glanced over to Nazi. “I’m guessing you’re not eager to share why exactly you needed the red’s message history?”</p>
<p>Holding the folder closely to her chest as if she were a schoolgirl clutching a love letter, Nazi shakes her head. “No, not quite. It’s… A bit of a long story.”</p>
<p>“Make sure you don’t fuck her up or whatever it is you’re planning on doing until that Centricide thing is over.” Taking a drag and picking her briefcase up, the ponytailed woman made her way past Nazi, heels clicking on the asphalt as she left a cloud of smoke in her wake. “I want those centrist cucks gone too.”</p>
<p>Well, if all went according to plan, she wouldn’t need to worry- harming Commie was never the fascist’s intention, at least not this time around. “Don't worry, I won't. Have a pleasant day.”</p>
<p>“Sure.” Without much past a half-hearted wave, Hoppean disappeared around the corner, leaving Nazi alone with her new, pricey folder. </p>
<p>Hoppean had a reliable (albeit sketchy) network of contacts who could access just about anything for the right price, and she’d never done Nazi dirty before, so the fascist didn’t feel the need to check the folder until she had hurried back to her temporary home for the duration of the Centricide, hidden away in her bedroom with the door firmly locked. Finally, some privacy to go through this information.</p>
<p>Finding any info on what exactly made Ancom so appealing was the primary goal here, but as Nazi shifted through the large pile of papers with about six months worth of text messages to various people, she found herself reading ones that had nothing to do with the anarchist (and whether or not that choice came from not wanting to see the two interact anymore by reading their shared texts would be a secret for the ages). Commie had a group chat with the others in her quadrant, so it seemed. The bizarrely named group chat “<span class="u">authleft babes official comintern xoxo (no trotskyist is not allowed back in and if you ask one more time you’re getting unpersonned- hoxhaist)</span>” contained plenty of messages of varying interest to the fascist. For the most part, it was just a bunch of communists alternating between discussing vapid leftist shit and arguing about petty things, but something about seeing Commie in a natural situation like this… It was almost voyeuristic in nature, an intimate chat with friends that Nazi was never meant to be a part of. A young rogue peering over the garden wall to spy on the women of the harem, so to speak.</p>
<p>And if that was the analogy she was going with, as Nazi flipped one specific page over, she caught <em> much </em>more than she’d originally expected to see during her peeping. A certain few messages from several weeks ago grabbed hold of her attention: </p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>Marxism-Leninism (@ogcommunist)</b>: I finished the last details on that swimsuit I was working on. What do you all think? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The images caught her eye before words did, and Nazi felt her breath catch in her throat as her gaze landed on a pair of colour photos Commie had sent to the group. Holding her phone up in front of the mirror Nazi belatedly recognized to be that of Ancap’s bathroom, Commie looked stiff, as if she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. Her posture, though, was much less interesting to the fascist than what she had on. A bikini showed off most of her body, black with green frills around the edges and possessing what was most likely a very normal amount of coverage for a swimsuit, but considering that Nazi had never seen Commie in anything but twenties-style swimming shorts and full tops? That was a <em> lot </em> of bare skin, showing off toned muscles and curves. The second image- same outfit, but taken from behind- was enough to make Nazi grip the papers tighter, closing her eyes and inhaling sharply. <em> Don’t think those sorts of things. Stop looking at her ass and fucking read the messages. </em>Easier said than done, obviously, but she managed to tear her eyes off the photos towards the responses.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>Titoism (@uncletitosspleunkingtours)</b>: Very nice!</p>
<p><b>Juche (@juche_gang53)</b>: ooooooh!!!! wear that to munsu water park w/ me next time you’re in pyongyang!!!</p>
<p><b>Monarcho-Socialism (@comradehighness)</b>: My decree is that you look delightful! </p>
<p><b>Queer Marxism (@marxismlesbianism)</b>: dayum is it hot in here or is it just ML</p>
<p><b>Guevaraism (@gusanodestroyer69)</b>: It’s actually like really really hot where I am right now</p>
<p><b>Guevaraism (@gusanodestroyer69)</b>: But yes ML you look cute too </p>
<p><b>Marxism-Leninism (@ogcommunist)</b>: Thank you all very much. It took a while to sew, but I’m happy with how it came out.</p>
<p><b>Sankarism (@begonecolonizer)</b>: You did a good job on it! You and those Centricide girls going to the beach or something?</p>
<p><b>Maoism (@culturalrev1893)</b>: nah she’s just trying to impress ancom this summer xī xī</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nazi swallowed harshly, ignoring the anger pooling in her gut at that Maoism girl as she reads on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>Marxism-Leninism (@ogcommunist)</b>: I am not!</p>
<p><b>Dengism (@socialismwcc)</b> <b>: </b>you totally got the hot$ for them we can practically $ee it from outer $pace</p>
<p><b>Dengism (@socialismwcc)</b>: if i a$ked FALG$C she could probably point your big gay cru$h out from whatever $tar $he’$ floated off to</p>
<p><b>Maoism (@culturalrev1893)</b>: normally i loathe to disagree with dengism but she’s right for once</p>
<p><b>Dengism (@socialismwcc)</b>: aw babe you know we have a $pecial friend$hip ;)</p>
<p><b>Maoism (@culturalrev1893)</b>: don’t push it, revisionist </p>
<p><b>Sankarism (@begonecolonizer)</b>: Why the anarchist of all people? Guess it could be worse and you could be pining for Ansyn or something but you can do better!</p>
<p><b>Christian Communism (@saint_</b> <b>expeditus)</b>: What is your problem with Anarcho-Syndicalism, exactly?</p>
<p><b>Sankarism (@begonecolonizer)</b>: DOWN WITH HER!</p>
<p><b>Christian Communism (@saint_</b> <b>expeditus)</b> <b>: </b>Goodness gracious!</p>
<p><b>Marxism-Leninism (@ogcommunist)</b>: I do not have any interest in Ancom! Not like that, at least! I just… Trust their fashion sense. They said they liked black and green, so I took their advice when it came to deciding the colour scheme.</p>
<p><b>IRA Socialism (@comeoutyeblackntans)</b>: oh girlie you got it something fierce</p>
<p><b>Juche (@juche_gang53)</b>: ah young love</p>
<p><b>Hoxhaism (@revisionists_dni)</b>: You never tell us about your personal life ML!!! Let us in on some stuff every so often, it’s only comradely!!!</p>
<p><b>Hoxhaism (@revisionists_dni)</b>: So what do you like about Ancom, eh? They’re short enough to pick up, they’ve got a cute face, AND they’re good at building impromptu hideouts that can double as bunkers. Those are my guesses!</p>
<p><b>Marxism-Leninism (@ogcommunist)</b> <b>: </b>It still isn’t a crush, for the record. They’re my friend, especially now in a house full of capitalists.</p>
<p><b>Marxism-Leninism (@ogcommunist)</b>: But if you’re asking what I like about them as an individual? Mm… If it makes any sense at all, they’re very innocent.</p>
<p><b>Sandinismo (@fsln_61)</b>: Not to ruin your image of them or anything, but at the left unity party last year the two of us put a fake baby in Strasserist’s car so the pigs would come and break her window the next morning.</p>
<p><b>Guevaraism (@gusanodestroyer69)</b>: HOLY FUCK THAT WAS YOU GUYS???</p>
<p><b>Queer Marxism (@marxismlesbianism)</b>: LEGENDS ONLY</p>
<p><b>Sandinismo (@fsln_61)</b>: Yeah it was pretty great jajaja</p>
<p><b>Sandinismo (@fsln_61)</b>: But the point is they’re kind of a lil shit. Not exactly ‘innocent’.</p>
<p><b>Marxism-Leninism (@ogcommunist)</b>: I don’t mean innocent in the ‘never does anything wrong’ sort of way.</p>
<p><b>Marxism-Leninism (@ogcommunist)</b>: They’re a good girl. Every time they talk about revolution, about a just world free of exploitation, about improving the lives of strangers… Even though we’re more or less the same age, there’s a youthful hope in their eyes. They can be hopelessly idealistic, but whenever they talk about this new society they want to make…</p>
<p><b>Marxism-Leninism (@ogcommunist)</b> <b>: </b>I suppose it makes me want to hope, too. </p>
<p><b>Marxism-Leninism (@ogcommunist)</b>: That’s what I mean by ‘innocent’. Even when they’re being utopian, their heart is always in the right place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The conversation goes on with more teasing and chatter, and Nazi is tapping her foot in irritation against her bedroom floor. ‘Pure’, hm? ‘Innocent’? So that’s what Commie liked about Ancom. That she hadn’t lost herself to the callousness the other three in this house were prone to when it came to building their worlds?</p>
<p>Fuck.</p>
<p>No matter what she did, Commie would always remember Nazi for regimes that grabbed power opportunistically and then made a point to hunt her down specifically because, historically speaking, Commie was the one with the best chance of taking any fascist movement down. She’d remember the movements that paid lip service to worker’s rights and then violently crushed unions and lavishly rewarded their wealthy backers the second they had power. She would look at her and remember having her hair shaved off and being beaten daily inside that Chilean torture camp. When she looked at Nazi, did Commie lock eyes with another legendary ideology? Or did she see the one who ordered one of her best philosophers shot in the head and thrown into a canal?</p>
<p>Nazi couldn’t be innocent. Violence was never a question when it came to her- it was an answer, <em> the </em>answer to any sort of obstacle standing in her way of a tightly controlled, moralistic master race. Even though Ancom had spilt her share of blood, the two of them were so very different when it came to their ideals. Nazi would often take pride in being Ancom’s opposite, see it as a badge of honour when faced with the other girl’s wanton degeneracy, but now… Now it was ensuring she might lose this tug-of-war for the left authoritarian. A game Ancom might not even know she was playing, but that was nonetheless destined to end with either her or Nazi with a broken heart.</p>
<p>The fascist knows she can’t ever be that “pure-hearted” girl Commie seems too fond of. But it doesn’t mean she has no solution to the problem. One is brewing in the back of her mind- risky, oh yes, but one that could solve the issue permanently. If this works, Ancom could be kicked out of the race for good. She’d have to wait a day or two more before contacting Hoppean, lest she annoy her best source for questionable help, but it would be well worth it when the left anarchist is left in the dust permanently.</p>
<p>
  <em> (Slipping just a little more, a bit less stable each day as the Bolshevik haunts your mind. These violent delights have violent ends.) </em>
</p><hr/>
<p>As one day passes and leads to another, Nazi really wishes she had more than one contact willing to sell her highly questionable products. It would mean she didn’t have to wait around until it felt long enough to message Hoppean again. Libertarian and Minarchist had proved useful in the past, but both of them seemed very hesitant to deal something as simple as arms with her, so the current item she required would probably send them both running. Not to mention that they were both close with Ancap, and… Well. It was perhaps important that the right anarchist didn’t know exactly what she was doing just yet. Ancap didn’t know it yet, but she was to play a very important part in Nazi’s plan. Best not to tip her hand early and make the other capitalist too wary for this to work.</p>
<p>So in the end, it’s just Hoppean. Which means another day of waiting, and another day for Commie’s roundheeled nature to bring out Nazi’s degenerate, base instincts.</p>
<p>She swore to herself that she’d never do something as foolish, as <em> whorish </em> as what she’d done that eventful evening in the laundry room. As far as Nazi was concerned, that incident was the first and last time she’d ever fall victim to something so depraved.</p>
<p>… But then it had become a bit of a pastime.</p>
<p>Commie either wasn’t saying anything or hadn’t noticed that she seemed to lose a pair of panties each load- or rather, one pair she put in with the Monday wash generally wouldn’t turn up until the Friday wash was finished, having somehow vanished and reappeared during a laundry cycle. Nazi would usually abscond with a pair from the pile (recognizable due to Ancap’s earlier observation that the left authoritarian was really the only one who wore such plain undergarments) and then return them to get a new pair. Of course, she wasn’t stupid enough to get up to her… Activities… In the laundry room anymore. No- a firmly locked bedroom door, triple checked, was her new line of defence. For here she was in her bed, hand-sewn panties in hand, dreaming something up.</p>
<p>Ever since their little hairstyling day, Commie was seemingly feeling nostalgic- she’d brought out one of her old photo albums and dropped it on the coffee table. Nazi knows she’s heard Ancom and Ancap flipping through it and giggling like schoolgirls at old fashion trends like they hadn’t taken part in them at the time (<em> I haven’t forgotten when you had that awful feathered cut in the seventies, Ancap </em>). For her part, Nazi had gone through them as well. Most weren’t particularly interesting, but one image in particular had caught her eye.</p>
<p>She couldn’t read any of the cyrillic, but she could at least make out that it was dated around the early fifties. A group of young volunteer caregivers looked to be puttering around a nursery, long black dresses and white aprons dating the image considerably. Nazi might not have recognized Commie without her ushanka had the scarred lip not given her away. Dressed identically to the other carers and seated in the corner of the room, headscarf tied under her chin but failing to hold back most of her thick hair, the left authoritarian had an uncharacteristically gentle look on her face as she cradled a bundled up child in her arms, holding the swaddled babe close to her chest. </p>
<p>When did Commie ever make expressions so tender? Almost everything she does (ever since Nazi has known her, really) has been done with explosive passion and with a tendency for theatrics. She focused on the big picture, little details often being lost along the way. Logic dictates, therefore, that it would be outright foreign to see a soft expression on the leftist’s face as she tended to an infant. But somehow, it wasn’t. Now, was it an unusual sight? Most certainly. And yet…</p>
<p>Nazi knows this isn’t the first time she’s let this thought cross her mind, but even if her personality is far too militant to be a proper mother, Commie’s strong body seems as if it would make her especially well-suited to birthing and keeping up with multiple children. Those damn communists pushed this absurd concept of total gender equality that poisoned her mind into thinking her human equivalents would be happiest outside the home, but Nazi knew better- perhaps one day Commie could see the error of her ways. Once again, her unfortunate Soviet roots meant she could really never raise the perfect Aryan offspring, but provided she was bred by a good Germanic man, eventually down the line those pesky Slavic genes could be diluted to the point of not affecting her descendants. </p>
<p><em> Bred. </em> Was that the right word? Maybe so. Commie was fiercely independent, so full of pride, always ready to charge into battle herself with her gun at the ready. She wouldn’t be the type to willingly accept that she’d be better off living a domestic lifestyle- Nazi would have to help convince her, help show her the benefits. An image grows in her mind as she closes her eyes, hand clenched around the stolen panties: Commie wriggling and cursing to get out of the bindings holding her arms back and keeping her legs bent and apart, not particularly soothed by Nazi’s arms around her naked torso as she was held from behind, feeling soft muscle ( <em> wondering what would soon replace it) </em> over her stomach.</p>
<p>Of course Commie wouldn’t understand at first, wouldn’t listen when Nazi explained that this was really all for her own good in the end. <em> You aren’t a representative of the master race like me, </em> Nazi would coo, stroking the other woman’s hair, <em> I simply can’t be seen unmarried and pregnant. You, though- your purpose can be so much more than a representative of your degenerate ideology. You’ll make a lovely brood mother, I’m sure of it. Consider this an opportunity to redeem yourself. In the end, you’re quite fortunate. Ancom isn’t getting this second chance. </em></p>
<p>There would be no absolution for the anarchist- she’d probably be kept in some military base for the soldiers’ stress relief needs along with other irredeemable women, provided she wasn’t shot in the head and tossed in a mass grave. Commie, meanwhile, would be given an opportunity her comrades would never get. That was how much the fascist cared for her- enough to offer her a better life free of charge. The Nazi in the real world slips a hand under her nightgown, fingers tracing her slit as she continues her fantasy. No, Commie wouldn’t take it kindly at all. The imagined look of sheer horror on the communist’s face as she realizes her role in this new situation- fuck, it’s enough to send a rush down the fascist’s spine that finally settles in between her legs. The struggling and the enraged curses that would break into pleas and bargaining as footsteps can be heard outside wouldn’t be enough to get Nazi to back down. <em> Nazi, please, enough, this is too much, you can’t do this- </em></p>
<p>“But I can.” Nazi murmurs quietly to the air as she brings the plundered panties up to her face, inhaling deeply and allowing Commie’s scent to transport her further into the fantasy. “You don't need to be frightened. This is a much happier life than you could have ever found in your own system. You’ll find joy in your new position.”</p>
<p>She doesn’t spend much time imagining the man she’d pair Commie with- he’s ultimately unimportant. Maybe some military commander or honoured soldier- the communist is alluring enough for this to be a reward. Aside from ensuring he would be Aryan, she doesn’t give him much thought. What’s a lot more important is how Nazi would soothe the other woman as she struggled, petting her hair and pressing kisses into her neck, still ensuring the man didn’t get unnecessarily handsy during the process. Inhaling again and slipping a digit inside herself, Nazi whispers out loud just as she would to Commie. “This panic isn’t becoming of you. I know your children will inherit your strength- your sons will bring pride to the nation. You’re fine, you’re fine. Quit the whimpering. Look, that’s not so bad, is it? You’ll start feeling good soon.”</p>
<p>Commie’s breath would hitch with each movement, and as Nazi moves to play with her own clit, she pictures herself reaching down to touch the left authoritarian instead, murmuring gentle praise into her ear and reminders of how well she was doing. Eventually, Commie’s thrashing would transition into gentle gasps and moans, Nazi working the other woman up to her orgasm as this imagined man finishes inside of her, ensuring that the usual shocked cry of fear over the situation would be replaced with a moan of ecstasy as she cums to the fascist’s touch, the source of her trembling- Dread? Pleasure? Some combination of both- being anyone's guess.</p>
<p>What an intoxicating image that was. Nazi slips another finger past her lips, her own breath heavy and thick, rocking forwards gently on her hand as her mind carries on. Commie really couldn’t be trusted not to do something foolish to herself on her own- Nazi would tend to her. She’d replace the leftist’s wardrobe the second the test came back positive- partially due to military uniforms being rather unaccommodating for pregnant bodies, and partially due to a change in mindset being necessary if she was to mold this woman into a better person, a proper mother, and that starts with clothing. Tulle dresses, long sleeves, cape backs, hems embroidered with floral patterns- Commie would look stunning. All of that beauty that was otherwise hidden away as she took on male roles could be brought to the surface as muscle gave way to soft curves. </p>
<p>Understandably, Commie would sulk around and mourn her loss of freedom at first. But that would change as time went by. She wouldn’t resent Nazi forever. Eventually, the fascist knows Commie would be sneaking looks at herself in the mirror, examining her radiant skin, her growing bump. She’d come to see the potential Nazi knew she had all along. She’d yield, let the right authoritarian into her heart, into her bed, and in turn Nazi would offer up praise and care and her undivided attention. All that plus her protection. Who would be brain-dead enough to disrespect the creature most dear to the embodiment of fascism? If someone so much as <em> looked </em> at Commie wrong, much less tried to lay a finger on her? Nazi would bring her their head on a platter. The blonde imagines Commie curling up next to her, pictures shared kisses and roaming hands, starts gently circling her own clit with her thumb as she imagines what fluctuating hormones would do to the leftist’s libido. </p>
<p>(Eventually, she wouldn’t even ask about Ancom anymore.)</p>
<p>She’d make a beautiful sight resting in a hospital bed, swaddled newborn in her arms, the gentle expression on her face matching the one in the old photograph that had sparked this entire fantasy. Carefully holding her child to her chest to breastfeed (a boy, Nazi decides after a second or two of contemplation), Commie would look over with an exhausted smile. <em> Lisichka, </em> she would say, <em> thank you for everything. </em></p>
<p>The boy would go to a good, proper family, would be raised with traditional values and a routine that would ensure his strength would be brought out properly, and the cycle would begin anew. There’d be no fight in Commie this time, just the understanding of her new position and the happiness found when falling into the place nature intended. Life would go on, months would pass. The communist would have become perfectly domestic, the product of taming an enemy into a valuable tool for the growth of the empire and an even better companion for herself. Nazi would help run this better world, engage in all the politicking expected from an ideology, and come home to her pretty girl eagerly awaiting her, the smell of freshly-cooked <em> schweinshaxe </em> and <em> kartoffelkloesse </em> coming from the kitchen, and a flowing dress doing little to conceal a growing bump. <em> Would you like your dinner first? Or a bath? Or </em> , this imagined Commie says with a coy smile and a little tilt of her head, <em> perhaps you’d prefer…  </em></p>
<p>God. Nazi hurries the pace as she all but grinds against her hand, allowing the very real scent from Commie’s panties to bring her into the scene. This beautiful girl by her side in bed, all flowing hair and womanly curves, looking at Nazi like she needed her. How perfect, this changed woman. Red eyes that once held a passionate anger long-since replaced with a doe-like adoration for the fascist. Hands that before pulled triggers and drew battle plans ran over Nazi’s chest, clenched at the covers as the other woman dipped her head between her thighs. Lips that spat out tense orders in another life now being used to plead for <em> more, more, Lisichka, just like that, right there, I’m yours, all yours-! </em></p>
<p>With Commie’s voice in her head and a shuddering gasp in the real world, Nazi cums against her fingers, still pumping in and out until the last wave of pleasure has run through her body, until she collapses back onto her pillow with heaving breaths that don’t settle for at least a minute. It isn’t until her heart returns to a normal pace that she can really think again.</p>
<p>She’d heard Ancap mention something called ‘post-nut clarity’ once, and as disgustingly crude as that phrase was, perhaps there was a grain of truth in it. It was in moments like these, full of vulnerability, where Nazi found herself most willing to analyze her behaviour. Of course she’d be… ‘Interested’ in the idea of finally getting Commie to yield, to settle into her proper place, to claim a sort of victory over someone she’d warred on and off with for over a century. There weren’t many physical indicators of your submission more glaring than pregnancy, so that much made sense. </p>
<p><em> But why, exactly, do you fantasize about playing the doting husband? </em> , that awful, doubting voice reminds her. <em> There’s nothing natural about a woman touching herself to the thought of having an obedient, pregnant housewife. You’re putting yourself in a man’s role. You know it, too- can’t even dream of raising a child with her, know that nature doesn’t intend for children to be raised by two mothers. </em></p>
<p>Nazi quietly mutters out loud, staring at the ceiling. “We aren’t humans. We’d outlive any child we raised.”</p>
<p>
  <em> So then why think about a baby at all? </em>
</p>
<p>“Children are necessary to prevent white genocide.” Rolling over, tucking the panties into her bedside drawer with a mental note to return those to the hamper ASAP, the fascist tries getting comfortable in bed. “Commie is physically sturdy enough for multiple births in a relatively short period. I’m just being pragmatic when it comes to saving my race.”</p>
<p>
  <em> And Ancom isn’t sturdy? </em>
</p>
<p>“That bitch is a Mexican. Filthy people who breed too much already.”</p>
<p>
  <em> She’s Spanish and you know it. You fought her in Catalonia.  </em>
</p>
<p>“Whatever.”</p>
<p>
  <em> You just want to relish in the fantasy of having a baby with the red. You’re sick. Hopelessly sick. </em>
</p>
<p>“Just shut the hell <em> up.” </em> Nazi growls a little too loudly, slamming her mouth shut as she realizes she’s been talking out loud to herself for just a little too long. This… Was normal, right? The talking to herself bit. Everyone did that. Didn’t they? Nothing odd here.</p>
<p>… Something in her brain is slipping out of place, crumbling into pieces. Nazi can almost feel it. Even if she doesn’t acknowledge it, she knows it’s happening. If she doesn’t get what she wants- what she <em> needs </em>- soon, something very, very bad could happen. And what she wants is Commie.</p>
<p>First thing tomorrow, she’s messaging Hoppean for the key ingredient in her plan to get Ancom out of the running. In several days, it would all be over.</p>
<p>Several days, and Commie would be hers.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CONTENT WARNINGS BEGIN</p>
<p>- Misogynistic thinking/internalized misogyny<br/>- Rape/non-con fantasies (fairly graphic!)<br/>- Forced pregnancy fantasies (also graphic!)<br/>- Anti-Mexican racism (brief and not directed at someone who's actually Mexican)</p>
<p>CONTENT WARNINGS END. SPOILERS BEGIN.</p>
<p>somehow i feel like if my skin crawls when i'm writing nazi, i'm doing something right lmao. oh, did you know forced pregnancy in the name of eliminating certain racial traits from a gene pool counts as genocide? it has happened multiple times before! a lil factoid for you in case you had too much faith in humanity.</p>
<p>hoo boy, we're really entering endgame territory now! i can't really think of any way to write an authunity story where the relationship isn't incredibly unhealthy and it shows but! thanks so much for reading! please leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed, and i'll see you soon!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. why her smouldering eyes still scorch my soul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>OK UHHHH TAKE TWO. i've gotten over the fear, so! enjoy this grim event.</p><p>so hey, funny story: notice how i 'chose not to use archive warnings'? haha uh well! perhaps you should CHECK THE END NOTES FOR TRIGGER WARNINGS OR ELSE YOU MIGHT FIND SOMETHING YOU REALLY DO NOT WANT TO SEE! you know how i've been characterizing nazi by now. please understand that i am giving you ample warnings here and that you're proceeding at your own risk by not reading them if you are squeamish!</p><p>before we move onto Pain Zone, how about some character refs (if the link will work this time)? i commissioned a <a href="https://64.media.tumblr.com/f71d7a6d0b349de8debbabfbbaf206b4/3c8af1aee120e041-58/s2048x3072/124295bed98788f8666f55df807af310f1fc9b63.jpg">little authunity</a> by @miijiijii and <a href="https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Eed4EYCXgAU-Elw?format=jpg&amp;name=large">some libunity</a> by @mothsprite (aka u/clowntoddhoward)! so much cuter than what is coming up.</p><p>ANYWAYS no more stalling! let's dive into this metaphorical piranha tank!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One of the nicest things about Hoppean was that she didn’t ask questions. All it took was a short text exchange and an online funds transfer, and a wrapped-up ring box was left in the mailbox by noon, quickly snapped up by Nazi so none of her nosey housemates could get at it.</p><p>Of course, there was no jewelry inside (the thought of actually buying a ring for a certain woman almost made Nazi dizzy to think about). The contents are precious enough that the fascist ensures the box is tucked away under her clothes in the corner of her closet, never to be found by anyone but herself. She’s done her homework, checked everyone’s schedules, and she won’t actually get the chance to use it until tomorrow evening. Considering how that’s actually far sooner than she expected, she’ll take it.</p><p>It also means that there’s time to kill, though, and Nazi isn’t all that sure what she can fill the time with. There’s always Evola, which she does wind up picking up, but she’s so antsy that she realizes she’s hardly retained a word nearly a whole chapter into a book. It’s unusual, this nervousness, and she’s really not sure how to handle it. It mostly means that the fascist spends hours alternating from pacing around the bedroom parameter like an overstressed zoo animal, continuing her efforts to read (and failing), and anxiously re-organizing her room about three separate times. Luckily for her, though, fate seemed to have provided her a solution via a loud knock on her bedroom door that almost makes her jump out of her skin.</p><p>What time is it? Almost seven PM. Pretty much twenty four hours ahead of when she’d get to take the item out of her closet. That time in itself was odd. The four extremes rarely bothered each other in the evenings, usually too tired out from a day full of bickering to see any more of each other. With a light frown, Nazi rose from her bed, striding over to the door and opening it slightly, peering out. “Who is-“</p><p>She barely had a chance to react when the weight pushing on their other side of the door forced it open, and Nazi scrambled to avoid falling over as Commie fell into her arms, feet bracing against the floor as she struggled against the weight of the taller woman. “Co- what the hell are you doing?!”</p><p>“Nazi,” Commie sobbed against her shoulder, shaking helplessly as one arm wrapped around her shoulders, clutching at her shirt. Since when did Commie- ice queen, mythic bitch- all but burst into people’s rooms crying like a little girl?! “Nazi, people are awful. They’re so goddamn awful sometimes.”</p><p>That childish declaration… Something was up. Head injury, maybe. But then blue eyes flicked to Commie’s other hand, barely holding onto a mostly empty litre of vodka, and suddenly the tears made a lot more sense. That plus the quarter-pint bottle of ambiguous fullness in her jacket pocket painted a picture of what had gone down to get the woman bawling like a child. She was drunk beyond belief. “... Okay, okay. Come and sit down.”</p><p>Huffing and puffing, Nazi managed to finally shuffle Commie across the room and prop her up on against the backboard of the bed like an oversized doll. She tried to gently pull the vodka out of the left authoritarian’s hand, but retreated once Commie quickly pulled the bottle back, holding it against her chest as her tears slowed, wiping her face with a shaky arm. “No. I still- I still need it.”</p><p>“Fine. Don’t spill it on my sheets.” Sighing and shaking her head, Nazi paused slightly, unsure of what to do, before making the choice to climb up on the lower half of the bed, tucking her calves under her knees and folding out her skirt. “What happened to get you like… this?”</p><p>Bringing up the bottle for another swig (stinging Nazi’s nose with the nail polish-remover pungency of vodka), Commie sniffed one last time before managing to get herself together enough for words. “I was in our- well, I have a little group chat with some others from my quadrant. We just talk about whatever, and sometimes we- it’s not important.”</p><p>Really hoping she was keeping as good of a poker face as she thought she was at the mention of the group chat she definitely shouldn’t know about, Nazi nodded as Commie continued. “Um, anyways, this afternoon I decided to upload that photo of when I did your hair to my Twitter. I thought it would be fine, with everyone knowing about the Centricide and all, but then- then Titoist got angry in the group chat about me spending time with you, then Hoxahist made it worse by jumping to my defence too aggressively and calling her a fake communist, and then everyone was picking sides and getting angry and I just- the name calling, everyone getting so worked up about nothing, and I couldn’t even look at it anymore, and so… So then I…”</p><p>“So you had teenage girl drama that you should have grown out of in the thirties, and you drank about it.” Love or not, Nazi was not the type to mince words or pretend like this wasn’t unbecoming of such a legendary ideology.</p><p>“I know I have a problem.” Commie’s next words were so quiet, Nazi could barely hear them. “I know I drink too much. Even Ancom’s told me that.”</p><p>“Well, she’s a fucking drug addict, so she’s in no place to talk.” With Ancap probably going through enough cocaine weekly to stop an elephant’s heart, it seemed increasingly like Nazi was the only one in a corner without any substance use problems. Not counting those, ah, ‘necessary stimulants’ she had to do during the Second World War era, obviously. </p><p>“Them. It’s them.” Commie paused for another drink, sighing and going for the quarter pint in her coat pocket after she emptied the first bottle out. “I… I just don’t understand the others. You’re changing. I tried t’explain it! You are! I’m allowed to be your friend, aren’t I?”</p><p>Nazi pauses, trying her best to keep her response ambiguous- best not to show her hand a day before everything was set to pop off. That aside, it's downright disconcerting to see Commie in this state; a powerful empire crippled by her very human tendencies of drinking herself stupid and repressing any and all feelings. “Some people won’t ever understand women like us. You’re better off not trying to convince them.”</p><p>Pausing after another swig, Commie furrowed her brow, head tilting far enough for her to have to fumble to keep her ushanka from sliding off her head. “What do you mean ‘like us’?”</p><p>“Strong. Ladylike. Dignified.” When they weren’t piss drunk and crying, that is.</p><p>Laughing with a roll of her eyes, Commie swirls her bottle around a bit. “Maybe you are. I’m far from dignified.”</p><p>Leaning back a bit to shift some weight on her arms, Nazi shrugs. “Look at it this way: we’re the only two in this house not constantly hooking up with human men, debasing ourselves to nobodies like that.”</p><p>The redhead holds a hand up to her mouth, and Nazi’s not totally sure if Commie is trying to hold back a laugh or keep herself from puking. Hopefully the former- these are white sheets. “Oh, <em>Lisichka, Lisichka.</em> You never saw me during the Great Patriotic War. I was a very different person back in the day. Do you know- a bit before Sevastopol, out in the field, what happened?”</p><p>“I was there aiding the commanders on my side, though I wasn’t in battle.” Women on the battlefield were a rare sight for Nazi’s side. She didn’t get involved with that part unless it was strictly necessary.</p><p>“I was. This man, my sniping partner, Jaroslav- we had become good friends. Comrades. A deadly pair, him and I. We were retreating when he set off a mine. I barely avoided getting hit, but him- took half a leg off, filled his gut with shrapnel. I carried him back. Blood all over my uniform.” Her voice carried a distant tone, her eyes not at all in the moment. Whatever had happened, Commie was engrossed in it. “The doctor said he could stop the bleeding, but there was nothing he could do past that. The infection had set in. He had hours left.”</p><p>“I’m sorry.” Nazi says, which is odd, considering it was basically her fault that happened in the first place, and she certainly isn’t sorry to hear about another dead untermensch. Mostly, she’s sorry it has Commie so upset right about now.</p><p>“I knelt by his bedside, and he took my hand- he was in his late twenties, I think. Not old at all- and he smiled in that funny way he did, only one dimple. ‘Oh, Nika’, he said-“ Commie blinks, pausing as if she just remembered something. “- Right, I was going by Agafonika at the time, and the diminutive of that is Nika, so-“</p><p>“I understand what a nickname is.”</p><p>The left authoritarian nods, seemingly content with having gotten her point across. “‘Nika, <em>Solnishko</em>, I haven’t seen my wife in years. I know I won’t see her until we’re both in heaven’. Jaroslav talked about her all the time, you see, showed me pictures of her, his little baby son he left at home. He was on some tough painkillers, too, I think. ‘I haven’t felt a woman’s touch in some years. As a man, I’m dying very lonely. Nika, if you could do an ordinary man a favour on his deathbed, please unbutton your jacket. Please let me touch your breast.’”</p><p>Nazi felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, hands digging into the sheets. “So?”</p><p>There was a hoarse chuckle out of Commie’s throat, the woman running a hand through her hair and nearly knocking her ushanka off. “Of course I let him. And then I moved my head lower and offered him something more. Later, I brought his medals to his wife and said nothing of what happened. We exist to serve the humans who uphold us, after all. The government, even after Comrade Stalin when that fool Kruschev took power, didn’t want to document these sorts of stories, didn’t let us publish our memoirs accurately, but I wasn’t the only one finding myself offering up comfort in the last hours of someone’s life. I’m sure you have as well.”</p><p>“I really haven’t.” And she’s honest with that, she really is. Nazi isn’t one to hang around and offer condolences when some nobody is on their deathbed, much less <em>blow them,</em> if that is indeed what Commie is getting at.</p><p>Laughing and sipping straight from the smaller bottle again (how Commie could drink straight vodka like that without gagging was beyond Nazi), the left authoritarian cocked her head. That was about when the fascist noticed the blush across her tear-stained cheeks, pale skin flushed a deep red thanks to the alcohol, and had to bite her lip as she felt her own face begin to heat up. “That’s surprising coming from you. You’ve never been cozied up next to a commander in your army, never let his hands wander?”</p><p>“I haven’t been with someone, period.” Nazi knows her voice is a bit clipped, but it’s understandable as to why- The mere thought of letting a <em>human being</em> know her so intimately is overwhelming. “We’re made to be admired, to be worshipped. You know the saying going around now- ‘gods of the modern era’. You shouldn’t just be able to reach out and touch an idol like that if you’re a lowly human.”</p><p>Commie scoots a bit closer to her, and Nazi swallows hard as her eyes briefly fall to the woman’s shirt, buttoned down far lower than usual, before yanking her gaze back up to the communist’s nearly playful gaze. “I’ve learned it’s useless taking ourselves so seriously. We still have the same feelings those ‘lowly humans’ do. I can’t believe you haven’t slept with anyone after all these years! Aren’t you curious as to what it’s like?”</p><p>If she wasn’t on edge before, the fascist certainly is now, though it’s more a sudden burst of nerves than anything negative. She’s seen Commie drunk plenty of times (even before that fateful night where she helped her to the couch), but the left authoritarian has never gotten quite so close in an inebriated state. Nazi knows she should move away, stop things from escalating any further. </p><p>Of course, she doesn’t do that. Instead, she swallows, moving to toy with one of her braids without really thinking about it. “Unlike you, my followers have expectations for me to behave within the bounds of human womanhood. I have an image to keep up, standards to be held to. Obviously I’ve been curious about… that sort of thing, but dignity is far more important.”</p><p>The following giggle out of Commie’s throat sounds more like that of a college girl than a legendary ideology, and Nazi knows her own blush must be matching the communist’s at this point. The left authoritarian leans in further until her face is only a few inches away, the smell of vodka combined with the hazy look in her eyes nearly overwhelming. “There’s plenty of people you could spend a night with who wouldn’t tell a soul.”</p><p>Nazi’s hands, long since moved down to her sides, clutch nervously at the bedsheets. All this happening in her bedroom is making her feel far too vulnerable, her private space invaded with thoughts she’d rather not be having. In a way, though, that’s also what allows her to speak honestly- for all her talk about ‘hating tyranny’, god knows Ancap would bug the house if she thought blackmail would be profitable, and Nazi trusts her about as far as she can throw her. The sheets are soft against her hands as she shrugs her shoulders. “I… Don’t know anyone who would stay quiet.”</p><p>“Yes, you do.”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>Commie whines (sending a massive shiver down Nazi’s spine in the process), huffing in mock irritation. “Oh, <em>Lisichka,</em> I have to do everything around here, don’t I?”</p><p>And before she even gets a chance to respond with another clipped, nervous response, Nazi finds that there’s a pair of hands on her waist and lips pressed against her neck. She freezes, wondering if there’s been some sort of gas leak causing mass hallucinations, because that cannot be Commie kissing just above her jugular, pulse racing against full lips, can’t be her hands holding her so gently. But a moment passes, and another, and as Commie pulls back, Nazi realizes that’s exactly what it was. </p><p>Commie had kissed her.</p><p>The redheaded woman laughs, face inches from Nazi’s, and the vodka smell that would normally have the right authoritarian recoiling is now more entrancing than the scent of the loveliest flowers. “You make the silliest faces when you’re surprised. The one who would keep it to myself is me! I wouldn’t tell a soul about-”</p><p>And suddenly it’s all so much, there’s fireflies where Nazi’s self-control should be, and she’s all but launching herself at Commie, grabbing the sides of her shirt collar so hard that she tears it hard enough for a button to snap off, and smashes her lips against those of the left authoritarian. It’s messy, absolutely too forceful, the communist making a muffled yelping sound as she falls backwards with Nazi on top of her, but the blonde cannot stop. She tastes a familiar metallic liquid as her teeth catch skin, and even if it is just from her own lip, the fascist finds herself understanding for the first time why sharks are driven into a frenzy once they get the tiniest drop of blood from that little seal. She’s had one taste of Commie. She knows she won’t be satisfied until there’s nothing left of them both.</p><p>Commie, though, is fairly strong, enough to temporarily push Nazi back (though the fascist’s grip on her shirt collar may as well be iron). Both their hats had been lost during the push, Commie’s wild hair flowing out on the white pillow, and it’s only the left authoritarian’s strength that keeps Nazi from diving right back in. <em>“Vot eto da.</em> I… Wasn’t expecting that.”</p><p>Without meaning to, a tiny whine escapes Nazi’s throat, the blonde swinging her leg up to straddle Commie’s hip, breathing completely out of control. “Oh my god, Commie, please. Please keep going, I want you, you’re the only one I fucking want to do this with.”</p><p>Red eyes widen before Commie’s shocked face morphs into a grin, a tiny bit of blood staining her teeth, leaving it a lot more ambiguous as to who it came from. Arm reaching to take yet another swig from her small bottle, the communist speaks up after wiping her chin of an errant drop of vodka. “How unromantic of you. I would have thought someone like you would prefer a little more pomp and circumstances before begging me.”</p><p>Christ, what the fuck would she even say here to try and spice up the mood? <em>Roses are red, violets are blue, just so you know I recently masturbated to the idea of you getting knocked up against your will and becoming my docile housewife</em> somehow seems like it wouldn’t achieve the results Nazi hoped for. So she says nothing, instead rushing back down for more, to which Commie reciprocates this time. </p><p>Of course, it was still chaos. Nazi’s inexperience and Commie’s drunkenness made for a jumbled mess of teeth clacking against each other and tongues nearly being bitten, but wasn’t that fitting for the two of them, anyways? The vodka taste is fresh enough to burn Nazi’s tongue, sting her lips, and yet she can’t pull back even an inch. Commie’s hands move to Nazi’s thighs and raise her skirt as they snake up to her hips, and the fascist caterwauls helplessly against her mouth. Jesus, she knows she sounds pathetic, but it’s overwhelming to the point that she finds she doesn’t give a shit. “Oh god, you have no idea, you don’t even know how long I’ve-!”</p><p>She’s babbling and gasping for air every chance she gets, not wanting to spend a picosecond away from Commie’s mouth. There’s no words for this, no words for the emptiness Nazi didn’t even know she had being filled up, and she grinds her hips down on the other woman in an attempt to get even more of this indescribable euphoria. But even so, the fascist’s mind is racing, the creatures in her mind howling wildly and staring down at Commie through Nazi’s eyes, wanting everything she has to give and then some.</p><p>Skirt hiked high enough that Commie is stroking the sides of the other woman’s bare thighs, the soft fabric of her panties being the only barrier separating her from soft flesh, the redhead briefly pulls her head back, gasping for air. Nazi almost dives right back in, but Commie stops her with a light tug on the waistband that nearly sends the fascist into a tizzy. It looks like she knew that would be the reaction, taking a few seconds to breathe heavily before speaking, voice low. “I’m so… what’s even the fucking word, <em>p’yanyy,</em> useless goddamn English- I’m smashed. Making out with a fascist. A beautiful fascist, maybe, but- this can’t- this isn’t going to end well.”</p><p>“It probably won’t.” Nazi’s hands are moving from Commie’s collar to knead at the woman’s breasts through her shirt, and she thinks she may just about die at the humming noise Commie makes when the fascist squeezes gently. ‘Probably won't’ is the understatement of the century, and Nazi knows it- if this whole affair is a raging forest fire, then they are the sweet furry creatures huddled in the bushes.</p><p>
  <em>(She’d look back at this train of thought much later. Even then, she knew what fate awaited them.)</em>
</p><p>Commie swallows deeply, taking a few seconds to respond. “That’s- then what are we… Why are we doing this?”</p><p>“You kissed me first. I’m empty without you, Commie. I didn’t know it until we moved in, but you made me aware of that hole. We’re divine- we’re meant to be together, even if it means we aren’t meant to be happy.” Flashing back to that fateful night with the similarly drunk Bolshevik, Nazi comes to the conclusion that there must be some magical force about a wasted Commie that makes her feel wildly intoxicated enough to wax poetic as she unbuttons the other woman’s shirt further. “In five billion years, the sun will die, and so will we. I’ll take so many secrets to my grave- our love can be another on the pile.”</p><p>Commie’s eyes are wide, the woman fumbling for her vodka before scrunching her nose up as it approached her lips, quickly flicking the lid back on and pushing it away. Looks like well over a litre was her limit. “I- wait, love?”</p><p>Nazi nods her head, running one finger from between the leftist’s collarbones down to where her bra connected at the center. “We’ll be together forever. I know just how we’ll maintain everything, how you’ll fit into my society. It’ll be magnificent.” </p><p>She leans down to kiss Commie, but pulls back slightly as the other woman moves her head away, squirms in apparent discomfort. “Your society…? That’s- <em>Lisichka</em>, I don’t do well under fascism. Dangerous."</p><p>The power dynamic had shifted considerably in the past few minutes, Commie’s teasing playfulness retreating a whole lot- oh, she was adorable when she looked apprehensive. Nazi knew she had a submissive side to bring out, and she coos gently, stroking the communist’s flushed cheek. “Oh, of course there’s danger. We’re a disastrous pair. But I’ve seen your revolutions, seen your eyes while you fight for your life. There’s a devil in you just as there is in me. Tell me your heart doesn’t race for a burning building or a hurricane. Tell me you wouldn’t hold my hand and walk into it with me.”</p><p>“Nazi, I don’t think you-” Commie cuts herself off, eyes widening, and she’s abruptly scrambling to get up, almost shoving Nazi off her and onto the mattress. “<em>Blyat.</em> Gonna throw up, bathroom, bathroom-”</p><p>Oh shit. The impact of her rump hitting the bed again is like the teakettle from several nights before, knocking some common sense back into Nazi. Hurrying to get up with her, the fascist rushes after Commie as the taller woman sprints into the hall, unbuttoned top and trenchcoat abandoned in the room, following her into the bathroom. They way they both fall to their knees and subsequently glide across the tiles in sync might have been funny in another scenario, but there’s no time for laughing as Nazi scrambles to gather Commie’s hair. They make it just in time, and there’s awful puking noises as the communist empties her stomach full of vodka and only vodka directly into the toilet. Nazi cringes, keeps holding back her long hair, tries to focus on how silky it feels as opposed to the retching sounds.</p><p>It’s a solid minute before Commie raises her head again, teary eyed and desperately wiping her mouth and nose. “Gonna… Can’t go…”</p><p>“Shh. Shh. Let me help you.” Getting to her feet, Nazi struggles to lift Commie up with her, straining to flush the contents of the bowl before moving along with the communist barely shambling along. It’s back to her own room again, back to her (thankfully vomit-free) bed, and it’s not much of a struggle to get Commie on and settled under the covers. She’s clearly blacked out already, but the murmurs and fluttering eyes continue on for ten minutes. Nazi knows this because she spends it kneeling beside the bed, hands in her lap, watching as the left authoritarian finally drifts to sleep. Only then does she allow herself to breathe deeply, going over the events from the past half hour in a nearly dazed headframe.</p><p>Did Commie feel the same? She seemed hesitant, worried as Nazi brought up her distant plans (and what a dumb mistake on her part). For a split second or two, the fascist swore the other woman’s gaze held flashes of fear, and she now chooses not to think about how those eyes had sent chills down her spine and straight between her legs. But at the same time, Commie had initiated everything. So on some level, there had to be feelings there, right?</p><p>There had to be.  </p><p>Swallowing harshly, Nazi rose to her feet. It didn’t matter. Come tomorrow night, she’d have Commie no matter what. Even if she didn’t know what was best, even if she was still misguided… By the next day, it would all be done. Nazi would sleep on the couch tonight, but with some luck, soon she’d always be cuddled up by Commie’s side in a bed of their own. For now, though, she’d prepare some water and a couple ibuprofen by the bedside table. One day more.</p><p>… Should probably take those panties out of the drawer while she’s at it.</p>
<hr/><p>As Nazi had expected, Commie didn’t seem to recall a thing in the morning. It was easy to feed her a lie about trying to console her over her little group chat drama, twist a tale of her falling asleep and Nazi not wanting to wake her up. For her part, Commie was grateful, tired eyes and a big smile that may as well been Cupid’s arrow to Nazi’s heart.</p><p>The fascist was buzzing with nervous energy all day, barely even able to eat with her stomach flip-flopping with anxiety. It only got worse around six in the afternoon when Commie set out to Maoist’s house, the little ‘girl’s night’ she’d mentioned days before. And come an hour later as the remaining three sat down at the dinner table, Nazi was surprised she wasn’t sweating bullets. God, it was a good thing the anarchists were dumbasses. Speaking of, their bickering voices were pulling Nazi out of her internal struggle.</p><p>“You’re eating coal.”</p><p>“It’s not coal!” Ancom huffed, glaring at Ancap, the smaller girl poking at the decidedly coal-looking objects on her plate. “These are vegan lentil meatballs with Indian coconut curry sauce, and they’re delicious without being cruel to animals!”</p><p>The right anarchist sighed dramatically, unrolling the brown bag in front of her. “Whatever. I’m enjoying some real food.”</p><p>“Real fo- You just fucking used Skip The Dishes to get McDonalds!”</p><p>“Sure did.” Ancap nodded solemnly, taking out a wrapped up burger. “Better than your rocks in puke sauce.”</p><p>As the two went back and forth, Nazi anxiously played with her brisket, too on edge to take a bite. She’d need to find an opportunity to enact her plan, and shouldn’t be delaying it like this- she knew at least one way to speed the process up, even if it was chancy. After a few more minutes of mangling some perfectly good food, Nazi inhaled sharply before deciding to bite the bullet and blurting it out. “A-Ancap, was that your cheesecake slice in the fridge earlier?”</p><p>Turning away from her verbal sparring match, Ancap tilted her head at the fascist. “The chocolate one? Yeah. What about it?”</p><p>Trying to look like she was at least cutting her food, Nazi kept her voice as even as she could. “How peculiar. I saw Commie eating a slice of identical looking cake earlier.”</p><p>Ancap’s eyes widen, and she’s quickly standing up with a dramatic squawk before making a beeline back to the kitchen. “What?! I swear to god, if that pinko even <em>looked</em> at my dessert, I’ll make Hans Hoppe look like motherfucking Ghandi!”</p><p>As her fellow capitalist disappeared around the corner, Nazi was quick to turn her attention to Ancom, who was back to eating her nasty ‘meatballs’. Well, towards Ancom and the window right behind where she sat at the table, motioning with her head. “You know, the sunset looks lovely from that direction.”</p><p>“Hm?” Putting down her fork, Ancom spun around in her chair to investigate. And it certainly wasn’t a lie- the gorgeous pinks and oranges of the sky blended together as the summer sun set, clouds sparsely dotting the skyline. Not that Nazi got to appreciate it though- not when she had to lean across the table, arm extended, do it, right on back, hurry-!</p><p>Ok. Ok. She did it. It was done. Nazi could barely hear Ancom’s half-hearted reply as she turned back over the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears. Holy shit. Did that work? Seemed like it, as Ancap marched back on in with a confused look. “The cheesecake is still there.”</p><p>“Hm. It could have been a brownie or something now that I’m thinking about it.” Nazi shrugs, putting the arm grasping her fork on the table to try and stop the shaking. The hard part was over. Everything else- well, mostly everything- from this point on was a cakewalk (hah, cake). </p><p>Even so, as dinner carried on, Nazi could barely get more than a coupe bites in thanks to her stomach full of butterflies. The leftists would get angry whenever someone wasted food, but Commie wasn’t here, and Ancom… Wasn’t going to be a problem.</p><p>She’d done her research carefully. Studied up on how to measure precise amounts, on tolerance, on administration. Hoppean had even warned her about the dangers of using too much. The shifty businesswoman must have assumed Nazi had developed a taste for the vulgar, and while she was partially correct, it certainly wasn’t in the way she meant. Not like this at all. </p><p>It doesn’t take too long. Dinner is finally wrapping up, everyone taking their last bites (or done poking at her food, in Nazi’s case). Ancom had worn a strange expression for the past ten minutes or so, a hybrid of befuddlement and concern. That was a very, <em>very</em> good sign for Nazi. By the time Ancap is smushing her takeout bag in her hands like a child playing with bubble wrap, Ancom has a hand over the middle of her sternum, like she's struggling with breathing, and her chest isn’t rising and falling as fast as usual. “God dammit. I think I’m sick or something.”</p><p>“That’s what you get for not eating real food.” Ancap snorts, but tilts her head up from her bag when Ancom doesn’t snap back with something sassy. “... Jesus. What’s up with you?”</p><p>The leftist’s pupils are constricted enough for the faint outline of the anarchist A to be visible in her iris, visible sweat dripping down her forehead. Before anyone has a chance to ask, though, she’s throwing her arms forward to try and grip the table. It doesn’t work- she misses, sliding off one side and collapsing in a heap on the floor. Ancap gasps, and Nazi stares in awe at the crumpled girl on the tiles, wheezing with each breath.</p><p>“Wh- Ancom? Ancom!” Ancap shoves her chair back, rushing around the table and kneeling beside the other anarchist, sunglasses shoved on top of her head and exposing frightened, yellow-purple eyes. There they were again- those weak eyes, unable to hide her feelings. “Did you take something before dinner?!”</p><p>“During dinner, actually.” The right anarchist’s head spins to Nazi, standing up and admiring the situation with an almost childish glee. “I emptied a baggie of gamma-hydroxybutyrate into her water while you two were distracted. Wonderful results. I thought I was really going to regret not buying ordinary roofies, but that worked fast.”</p><p>Ancap’s eyes go from concerned to wide open in shock, jaw hanging open. “You- You gave them <em>GHB?!</em> Nazi, do you fucking realize how easy it is to overdose on- no, not even the main concern! Why the hell-”</p><p>Holding up a hand to silence her, Nazi sighs, playing with one braid as a childish glee overtakes her. God, she’d been waiting for this for so long. What a sight, the little brat wheezing and shuddering like that. “Do you know why Commie likes her, Ancap? She’s pure of heart. Powered by enthusiasm, by optimism. How could I even compare?”</p><p>Ancap looks absolutely dumbfounded as Nazi continues around the table. “Want to know what really kills that sweet little idealism? Something that breaks your faith in humanity. Something cruel. Something traumatizing.”</p><p>“We need to get them to a goddamn hospital! You’re insane!” Ancap yelped, looking from Nazi to the twitching Ancom to Nazi again. For her part, the fascist just shrugged.</p><p>“I’m pragmatic.” She offers up a pursed lip smile. “You know, it’s pretty difficult to have a love of humanity when, let’s say… Someone drugs you in the safety of your own quarters? Gets a little... <em>touchy? </em>That’s an innocence-buster. You’d never be whole again, not for the rest of your life. And that’s an awful long time for us.”</p><p>The right anarchist’s jaw drops before setting in a snarl, leaning over Ancom protectively. Her gangly frame did little for intimidation, though she didn’t seem to notice. “You’re not laying a fucking <em>finger</em> on them. Not in my goddamn house. I have no idea why this freaky perv crush turned you into some psycho in a couple weeks, but if you touch them-”</p><p>“Touch her?” Nazi gives a look of faux surprise, Ancap stopping her rant in confusion. “Oh, god no. First of all, I’d never touch the whore with a ten-foot pole. She’s probably a nest of STDs. Two, chances are she’ll be juuuuuust conscious enough to remember a few details about her attacker. Third, I don’t want my DNA all over her. If Commie finds out it was me, she’d never talk to me again.”</p><p>Looking back down, unsure of what to do, Ancap held her hands out uselessly. “Then what the hell-”</p><p>
  <em>Click.</em>
</p><p>The right anarchist looked up, curly bob cut bouncing as she looked for the source of the noise. In that moment, Nazi knew she’d be in bed conjuring up memories of the look of utter fear on Ancap’s face for years to come. This proud woman on her knees, horror in her eyes, staring directly up at the fascist and the Walther P38 pointed directly at her. Nazi usually didn’t wear her hip holster in the house, but when she’d sat down for dinner with a pistol attached to her, nobody had even batted an eye. Now, though, it was anything but subtle, and Nazi offered a gentle smile down at both anarchists.</p><p>“See, I'm not going to fuck her. <em>You are.”</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CONTENT WARNINGS BEGIN</p><p>- Threats of rape/attempt of rape by proxy/two instances of near-sexual assault of a severely intoxicated individual (THIS IS UNAVOIDABLE. IT MAKES UP TOO MUCH OF THE CHAPTER TO SKIP OVER. <em> YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.)</em><br/>- Alcohol abuse/discussed alcoholism + drug addiction<br/>- Drugging/tampering with a beverage<br/>- Misgendering<br/>- Canon-typical weapon use<br/>- Emetophobia</p><p>CONTENT WARNINGS END. SPOILERS BEGIN.</p><p>authunity is fun because from the beginning you know it can only end in tears and violence no matter how soft it starts, and who doesnt love that? (also you know it's serious when i'm peppering in a bunch of softer world quotes)</p><p>ANYWAYS wow if you made it, congrats! please leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed, and i'll see you all in the finale!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. she will burn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>remember how i said this was gonna be the last chapter? well! turns out that was a fucking lie. it got way longer than expected, so i decided to split it into two parts and upload the second portion as the ninth chapter/as the smaller "epilogue" of sorts. </p>
<p>but in any case, wow. i'm genuinely surprised so many people managed to hang on for this long given how grim this fic has gotten, but i'm incredibly grateful! hopefully you'll see me through to the bitter end. now more than ever as we reach the culmination of everything, KEEP THE CONTENT WARNINGS IN MIND (as per usual, they're in the end notes). this is heavier than last chapter in a very specific way that can be triggering to a LOT of people. i am warning you now, and without reading the CWs, you approach this chapter at your own risk.</p>
<p>as always, please enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Though her shrewd business skills were nothing to shake a stick at, Nazi knew from the start that Ancap wasn’t a fighter. No, she was not equal to the other three simply by occupying a corner- even next to Ancom, she was nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anarcho-capitalism. An ideology that was dreamt into existence by wealthy men with a love for drugs and a distaste for dating girls who had passed puberty and then carried around through theoretical spheres almost exclusively. There wasn’t a regime that allowed for her to rise up- Ancap had been, and still was, an idea nobody ever acted upon. She simply didn’t form correctly. Like a baby born crippled due to its mother’s alcoholism, that disjointed way of conceiving the ideology meant Ancap didn’t come out quite like the rest. When Nazi met her first, she was a bizarre creature who looked a little like that Classical Liberalism woman if you just turned her into a blatantly underage girl. It was known amongst them that most ideologies started off looking to be reaching the end of their teens- it’s how Nazi was born, into this fully formed body that’s aged a couple years in about a century. Not Ancap. At that time, she’d barely looked thirteen, and yet she’d strutted around with all the pride of an ideology who wasn’t a walking, talking error message, attempted to command respect, to go meet with her followers, and…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, Nazi wasn’t there for any of that, so she doesn’t really know. But she did just think about how Ancap’s creators were a bunch of pedophiles with deep pockets and empty morals. Ancap had finally re-emerged into the public sphere a week later looking almost worryingly skinny, shaking near-constantly, and most importantly, aged about ten years. Ideologies adapt to overcome the trials of the political sphere and to weather a storm and just </span>
  <em>
    <span>survive</span>
  </em>
  <span> something that is set on course to destroy you.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yes, she thinks she knows exactly what happened to Ancap when she’d set off to meet her base. Ideologies served humanity, and her humans must have found another way to worship their idol. Oh, Ancap had overcome it, morphed into an adult they’d no longer have an interest in, taken on her own pedophilic tendencies. She’d stopped shaking for the most part, and she’d grown a real attitude ever since, but with the sunglasses on top of her head as she’s crouched over Ancom’s twitching body, heterochromic eyes betray her. Behind violet and gold, there’s an </span>
  <em>
    <span>anguish </span>
  </em>
  <span>that Nazi has only seen in torture victims realizing that she’s coming back to ‘interrogate’ them again. Utter, complete terror.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God. Isn’t that just about enough to make her cum in her skirt?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But that’s not really how that sort of thing works, and Nazi tilts the gun down a bit, still keeping it firmly trained on Ancap. “Come, come, you heard me. Take her clothes off.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, the anarchist finds her voice, even if it’s now completely lacking in any of the over-the-top style and confidence that made it so ear-gratingly distinctive before. “Nazi, I- you can’t be serious, you’re-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nazi pops the safety on, then off again, and Ancap flinches in terror, cowering. Cowering for </span>
  <em>
    <span>her.</span>
  </em>
  <span> If it wouldn’t mean she’d lose her leverage, Nazi’s not sure she’d otherwise be able to resist pouncing the other woman and taking her then and there. “You mentioned how easy GHB overdoses are. I know it shuts down the respiratory system after enough time. How’s her breathing, Ancap? Think you want to keep going through the five stages of grief while she asphyxiates on the floor? I’ll only call an ambulance once you’re done with her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if on cue, Ancom lets out a long, dry breath, rattling and desperate. It’s maybe the only time the leftist has ever been helpful to Nazi. Green eyes are clouded over, seemingly unable to focus, but Nazi knows- knows that she’ll recognize the shape of a woman stripping off a yellow dress, of a curly brown bob cut with a section pulled into a bun. She’ll know who her rapist was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She won’t remember Nazi five feet away, and when Commie hears the news… Well, who’s she going to believe? Certainly not Ancap, especially not with the other two pointing fingers at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Never say fascists are simple brutes. She relishes in her capacity for intelligent cruelty. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ancap inhales sharply before looking down to Ancom, up to Nazi, and then down to Ancom again. Slowly, she brings her hands to the ragged hem of Ancom’s hoodie, cut to around her midriff (probably hacked at by the degenerate herself with kitchen scissors). It’s interesting watching how obviously each individual molecule of her being does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to do this, and yet, how she has an urgency with the reminder that Ancom is on borrowed time right now. The hem is pushed up to her clavicles, revealing a lacy black bra and a surprisingly ample chest for someone that height. So that’s what Conservative meant that one time when she was all red-faced and huffing about godless communists and their ‘temptatious mounds’. At the time, Nazi had honestly thought she’d had a stroke or something.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can stop this.” Ancap says so quietly, almost enough that Nazi doesn’t hear it. The right anarchist’s hands are trembling, presumably not from withdrawal this time around. Seriously, she knows she’s thought about it already, but Ancap was something else when she was scared out of her mind. Nazi wonders if Hoppean knows that, too. “Just call an ambulance. This will be forgotten forever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The idea that she’d go this far just to get all worried about morals now is nearly offensive. Nazi rolls her eyes, pulling up a chair from the table and taking a seat, never taking the gun off Ancap’s head. A superior specimen like herself is only meant to punish insults like that, isn’t she? “Tell me. How did it feel when they touched you for the first time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking hands pausing at Ancom’s midsection, Ancap looks over, confusion now mixed in seamlessly with her fear. “Wh… What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not fucking retarded, Ancap.” Nazi rolls her eyes, glaring down. “Everyone knows what happened when you met with your followers for the first time- most of us are just too polite to bring it up to your face. You were a half-baked </span>
  <em>
    <span>abortion</span>
  </em>
  <span> of an ideology, looking like a fucking preteen in front of men like that. And then you aged, what? A decade in a week? We all know the reason, but I want to know the details. What did they do to you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s hitting Ancap all at once, and the wheeze out of the woman’s throat mixed with rapidly moistening mismatched eyes (another little freakish trait, not even able to settle on one damn eye colour) is increasing the heat pooling in Nazi’s core. “You- You can’t, you can’t expect me to just-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’re willing to put up with all that pain of dying I just described a few days back, by all means, keep pleading.” Nazi raises up her gun as a little reminder. “But if you want to keep your brains in your head and Ancom’s pulse going, best hurry up on both those tasks. Describe what happened, and keep going with her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There really is no need for pornographic websites in the end- not when the look of utter </span>
  <em>
    <span>desolation </span>
  </em>
  <span>on Ancap’s face exists. This is a POW watching the flog be brought into the cell, a condemned race traitor being shown the gallows, and it’s the fucking hottest thing Nazi has ever seen. Peoply in misery, at their absoloute lowest point- that’s her pornography. Ancap makes a noise like she’s dying, not too dissimilar to the choking rattles coming out of Ancom every thirty seconds or so, and her hands dig into the leftist’s shoulders before she fumbles to get underneath her to unclasp her bra. “I… I snuck into a gala- just to introduce myself. I wanted to greet the people who upheld me, wanted to discuss ideology with them. Like all of you got to do with yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a sliver of bitterness in that scared voice, a tiny flash of jealousy. While only a few select individuals knew about their existence at any given time, it was indeed important to build a base with the humans who believed in a system strongly enough to subconsciously create a living effigy of it. “And then?” Nazi gets slightly more comfortable in her chair, observing as Ancap manages to pull Ancom’s hoodie all the way over her head followed by her bra. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pierced nipples, huh? Fucking whore.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It really didn’t seem like they believed me when I said what I was at the beginning.” Ancap’s elaborate speech patterns had fallen away long ago, leaving nothing but the shaky, ever so slightly Bronx-accented tone of a frightened young woman. “They humoured me. Asked where my parents were, if they knew where I was, what a girl ‘my age’ was doing out at this hour, if I’d ever had a drink before. Then if I wanted a drink.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ah, Nazi thinks she sees where this is going. God, that is some delicious irony right there, and she huffs out a laugh. “For fucks sake. Someone roofied </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t they?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know.” Her voice is so small, so meek, so very much a shadow of the woman it belonged to, hands trembling as she works at the belt around Ancom’s skirt. “I still don’t even know if that’s what happened or if I drank too much and blacked out. But I don’t remember anything. And then I woke up, and it… All over me, and inside me, and…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s too funny, and Nazi can’t help it- she laughs out loud, throwing her head back for a moment. “Ahaha, </span>
  <em>
    <span>god, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’ve been a mess since you were created. So all those child husbands are the second half of your little ‘I abuse others in the same way I was abused’ sob story? That’s pathetic, even for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ancap’s hands run up Ancom’s left thigh, stopping just beyond the hem of her skirt as the rightist pauses with a shaky breath. “I still can’t understand this. Just tell Commie how you feel. If she likes you-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I explained it already, didn’t I?” Nazi cuts her off. “Ancom needs to be taken out of the running before I can be certain. Hurry it up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m doing this as fast as I can, I just have to get her stockings detached from her garterbelt.” Fumbling around with her hands hidden by the skirt fabric, Ancap’s face is contorted into a grim concentration of sorts. Nazi is about to ask her why she doesn’t just lift the skirt up so she can see what she’s doing, but Ancap interrupts her, inhaling sharply as she stared down, hands still moving under the fabric. “... You want to know something funny, Nazi?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t stall for time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ancap ignores her, continuing on. “I always used to make fun of Ancom for not owning a gun, but they told me they have a better self-defense method. It made me laugh when they showed me it at first, but it seems like they have a point to the effectiveness of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Narrowing her eyes, Nazi goes to raise her gun a bit. “What the fuck are you talking abo-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Swivelling her head to meet her, there’s a potent mix of terror and rage in Ancap’s eyes, her teeth gritting as something from around Ancom makes a hiss sort of like a carbonated drink overflowing. “Looks like there’s benefits to always wearing a thigh pack full of flashbangs and a lighter.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Nazi can even begin to process that, Ancap’s swinging her arm back, chucking a handful of blue objects in her direction. They land at her feet, some rolling under her chair, and a few thoughts go through the fascist’s mind at that moment: </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, that wasn’t a carbonated drink, that was a bunch of fuses being lit at once</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>homemade cherry bombs? What a cheapskate</span>
  </em>
  <span> to name a few. But the more prominent thought of the moment is </span>
  <em>
    <span>get the fuck away or you’re going to lose a foot.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shrieking, Nazi all but leaps backwards, knocking her chair to the ground and sending herself tumbling to the tile floor several feet away. There’s four astonishingly loud </span>
  <b>BANGS</b>
  <span>, Nazi instinctively curling into a ball and covering her face and neck. For a minute, it’s like the old days, the ever nostalgic action of fleeing in a panic from a grenade, but it’s gone as soon as it came, the smell of smoky powder filling the air as Nazi tries to determine whether or not she’s been deafened. No, doesn’t seem like it. That’s good, at least. Scrambling to get her bearings as her head rings, she sees Ancap darting around the corner, out of the kitchen at lighting speed, and then the sound of heels frantically running up the stairs. Shit. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite herself, Nazi brings a hand up to herself to muffle a scream of rage. That bitch was going to call someone, and then- all of this- everything would be-!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her mind races, and as she lets out another howl of fury, she thinks she hears something snap in the back of her head. Just her imagination, probably. But don’t think about that, focus. She can’t salvage this entire train wreck, but she can still do one thing, which becomes apparent as her gaze falls to the girl still struggling for breath on the floor, vision tunnelling to the way she writhed weakly and her fingers twitched uselessly against linoleum flooring. Ancom is positioned differently, strewn with her head facing the doorway. Most likely, Ancap tried to pull her along before realizing she couldn’t get away in time with the leftist in tow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a slight change of plans, but Nazi can still make sure Ancom is </span>
  <em>
    <span>broken. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nobody gets in between her and what she desires and makes it out with any capacity for love in their hearts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Picking up her gun, Nazi gets to her feet before approaching Ancom, watching as the other girl’s glazy eyes followed her right until she was standing directly over her, one foot on either side of her hips. Skirt thrown up, naked chest struggling to rise and fall, Ancom stared up, pupils dilating to completely different sizes. Nazi was consciously aware of the angry heat building in her chest and between her legs</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The fascist’s mind replays the past month or so, every little interaction between the two leftists. Ancom at the gala, pressing her chest up against Commie and taking her hands. Ancom in the kitchen, baking bread and pretending not to like it when Commie holds her wrists. Ancom in the yard, inching closer and closer to Commie and getting her own pet name-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You ruin </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you little skank.” Nazi hisses, crouching down to straddle the anarchist. “All you leftist whores do is manipulate and seduce innocent women into degeneracy. At least Commie will take responsibility for it in the end.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And if all went according to plan, so would Ancom. The smaller girl wheezed, still presumably unable to speak, which was just as well when Nazi all but tore the offending thigh pack off, buttons skittering across the floor. As the fascist used one hand to pull down the girl’s panties, red and black lace sliding down with ease, Ancom made a sound between a whimper and a gasp, hands clenching weakly as her head twitched. Narrowing her eyes, Nazi leant over until she was directly over the anarchist, body casting a shadow over her, speaking with an icy cold tone. “Oh, you don’t like this? Lying bitch. You’ll fuck anything that moves, I know that for a goddamn fact.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Raising the hand holding the gun, Nazi lowered her pistol until the front sight pressed against the other girl’s lips. Maybe it was just her seeing what she wanted to see, but despite the rapidly increasing haze of the drugs, Ancom looked absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>horrified, </span>
  </em>
  <span>face draining of what colour it had left and sending a rush of arousal right between Nazi’s legs. In her brief excitement, she quickly pushed it further into the girl’s mouth, a rough shove that only stopped as the muzzle hit the back of the leftist’s throat. Ancom gagged, tears starting to bubble up in her eyes, and Nazi couldn’t help it- she ground down hard on the right side of the girl’s hips, breath picking up as her sensitive areas met the ridge of hipbones. “Don’t be like that. You must have taken much bigger cocks than that much further down your throat. The back of your mouth must have more semen than saliva at this point.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To emphasize her point, Nazi pulls the gun back slightly only to ram it back in, relishing in the desperate choking sound that rose up from the anarchist’s throat. She can feel one of Ancom’s legs twist slightly, and oh, how she wishes she could know for sure how much consciousness the girl is really experiencing right now. The fascist sincerely hopes it’s a great amount- the thought of Ancom being stuck in the passenger seat of her own mind, unable to move but fully capable of understanding and feeling what’s being done to her is just..! On a whim of sorts, Nazi removes the gun from the girl’s mouth, wiping the saliva on the weapon onto the leftist’s discarded hoodie and sliding down a little further to have access to Ancom’s lower half. Flipping her skirt up further, Nazi moves her free hand to the anarchist’s hips, walking a pair of slender digits from the girl’s prominent hipbones all the way to the top of her mons pubis. “You’ve always been a thorn in my side, and you know it. But I refuse to let you take away what’s given me purpose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s difficult to tell whether Ancom’s struggling gasps are her trying to speak, or if she’s just continuing to fight against her failing lungs to get oxygen. Nazi is almost impressed by the fact that she’s maintained any sort of consciousness until now- probably a testament to her insane drug tolerance. Sliding her fingers further down, Nazi fumbled slightly as she tried to find what she was looking for from a less than convenient angle. However, based on her knowledge of her own body, she roughly knows where this is supposed to be, and manages to roughly shove two fingers inside the anarchist after a bit of wandering. Ancom chokes on what little air she’s managing to get in, fingers scrabbling helplessly against the tiles. This isn’t at all like touching herself, mostly because the leftist isn’t even remotely wet- though Nazi manages to find lubricating moisture the deeper she forces her digits, the initial push involves a lot of brute force past dry skin. Finally, the fascist manages to get both her pointer and middle finger down to the base, and Ancom heaves like she’s going to be sick, tears that have been gradually bubbling up in green eyes finally spilling over, running over her cheekbones and down to her ears as her head lay uselessly on the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sight of the girl like this- matted bangs stuck to her forehead from sweat, tears taking heavy makeup with them as they stain tanned cheeks, mouth opening and closing like a dying fish- only sends a rush of heat between Nazi’s legs, and she’s grinding down on Ancom’s thigh before she even realizes it, leaning over again and supporting her body weight with the hand currently holding her gun to the floor. “I wish you could see how you look right now. You’re completely disgusting. Who could love you now, I wonder? Where’s that sunny optimism, Ancom? Where’s your smile?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ancom gurgles, and Nazi leans back slightly just to make sure she doesn’t get thrown up on if that is indeed what will happen. The anarchist doesn’t, though- just continues to struggle for air, even more so when Nazi rams her fingers in and out of the girl’s cunt as if she’s proving a point. It’s intoxicating, watching every little hopeless struggle out of the girl, every twitch and desperate gulp for air, and she blames the effect it has on her partially for what happens next. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Being occupied with the show in front of her, she didn’t hear any noise outside. She didn’t hear the keys rattling against the front door. In fact, Nazi noticed very little until the sound of the door slamming open rang through the house, the bang of heavy boots following, and she all but froze in place. A deer in the headlights.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kulak, you need to- </span>
  <em>
    <span>Iisus khristos,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ancap! Calm down and stop babbling, I still can’t understand you! What’s going-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Commie appears in the doorway, Nazi pleads to a dead god that she’s just going to keep running up the stairs, not look to her right to see what’s happening on the kitchen floor. But that’s the unfortunate thing about dead gods: they rarely listen to your prayers. Commie’s eyes turn, and then her head does, and her body just… Stops. Lips half parted in a word, eyes staring like they’re not quite sure what they’re seeing, and a cell phone held to her ear that just… Slips out of her unmoving hand, falling to the floor with a clatter. In the silence that follows, Nazi can vaguely hear what sounds like Ancap frantically speaking over the dropped phone, but it would be hard to make out even if there wasn’t the feeling of thick static in her mind, head trying to catch up with everything that was happening around her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How long did they just stay there, staring at each other? It couldn’t have been more than a couple seconds, but it might as well have been hours in Nazi’s mind. Then Commie’s mouth opens a little wider, preparing to emit some kind of sound, and the fascist breaks out of her stunned stupor like a horse out of the gates. Rushing to yank her hand out from between Ancom’s legs, she scrambles to regain her grip on her pistol, pointing it down at the head of the girl she was straddling, though her eyes were locked firmly on Commie. “Don’t move. Don’t do anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I- Stop. Nazi, stop. Put it down.” Whatever Commie was going to say before had been hastily shoved aside, the woman staring her down with… Nazi doesn’t know what that expression is, doesn’t know what the storm of emotions brewing behind crimson could mean. What she does know is that the chance to get off this track had passed long ago. She contemplates what might happen if she just… Pulled the trigger. Put Ancom down like the fucking dog she was. It’s mouth-wateringly tempting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she can’t. And she shouldn’t. Because she’s already done what she needed to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay. Everything is fine now.” Nazi is nearly surprised by the serenity in her own tone, given that the creatures are howling inside her mind. “I did what I had to do, Commie. You don’t need to be scared.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be a lot less scared if you put the gun down and get off of them.” Commie, just like before, is as still as a statue, tone unreadable. “What… What’s happening here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly standing up, still keeping one hand with a finger on the trigger and the barrel pointed down at Ancom, Nazi tilts her head back, feeling her braids shift to dangle down her back. “I’m not cheating on you, just so you can push that fear from your mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The redhead’s brow furrows slightly. “Chea- Nazi, we aren’t da-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Minutiae, just insignificant little details.” In that way, Commie was correct- they’d be so much more than a dating couple. So, so much more. She steps over Ancom, free hand beckoning Commie over. “It’ll make sense soon. Come sit against the wall with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will if you explain what’s happening.” There’s still a heavy caution in Commie’s voice, the raised hackles of a prey animal caught in a cage with a lion (and doesn’t that metaphor make Nazi want to pounce, devour her love whole?). Even so, she walks forward slowly as Nazi backs up, following the fascist to slide down at the kitchen wall a few feet from where Ancom lie. The anarchist’s previous dramatic chokes had turned into quiet, desperate wheezes- the window of time to save her was rapidly closing, something Commie didn’t seem to know, but somehow seemed to be on the edge of awareness as she sat down next to the blonde. “Please, Nazi. What’s happening to them?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing she can't handle. I dropped several grams of gamma-hydroxybutyric acid into her drink.” Though Nazi does her best to give a  reassuring smile, Commie’s eyes widen, face contorting into horror. Well, that won’t do at all. Raising her arm again, she points the gun at Ancom’s head, turning back to repeat the smile at the left authoritarian. “Commie. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She can handle it.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eyes darting from Ancom to the gun to Nazi, Commie finally inhales deeply, leaning back against the wall. “... Okay. Why did you do that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, how else was I going to get her still enough? I was going to make Ancap rape her, but the bitch got away with one of her little tricks.” It’s annoying, now that she thinks about it, and Nazi sighs in irritation. Commie is looking a little ill, so the fascist goes to hurry up the explanation. “See, I read your text history. You like Ancom because she’s oh-so hopeful, don’t you? Because of that ‘pure heart’ and optimism. So because Ancap ran away like a fucking pussy, I took it from her instead. And now you don’t need to care about her. You can focus on me properly from here on out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For maybe the first time in all her years of life, Commie appears to have been stunned into silence. Maybe Ancap was right- it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>easier just explaining everything to the leftist. Taking advantage of the deathly stillness that’s overtaken the other woman, Nazi shifts her position somewhat, using her free hand to cradle Commie’s cheek. Some of the moisture she’d managed to force out of Ancom is still on her hand, two digits sticking to the left authoritarian’s cheek from it, and Nazi never thought she’d ever live to see someone who could make the act of choking back vomit cute. Commie manages to finally get a word out, still pitched as if she’s still holding back nausea. “I… I see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It really does feel as though a weight has been lifted off her back. This thing that was troubling Nazi for ages- the worst has passed! She’s dealt with the problem! And now, here is her wonderful girl, right in front of her. Smiling uncharacteristically kindly, Nazi pats Commie’s cheek, the two fingers in question leaving a trail of… Whatever she’s supposed to call that secretion… Between her hand and the other woman’s skin. “I love you so much it was making me sick, Commie. We’ll have something wonderful together now. Something holy. Have you ever thought about having children?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The left authoritarian breathes deeply, and Nazi can feel a slight tremble under her hand. Poor thing, shaking with excitement! “... I can’t say I have.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can’t raise children together, obviously- it’s unnatural. But I have the perfect plan in mind for you.” Nazi thinks back to her conjured-up fantasy, feels herself getting worked up again. “I’ll find a fine Aryan man to breed you. You won’t have to worry about those inferior Slavic genes after a few generations.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Commie’s skin has been drained of its colour, and her eyes are wide like dinner plates. God, she was pretty when she was frightened. “I don’t… You… How long has this been going on for?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A month and a half, maybe? That’s the earliest bit I can remember.” Obviously Commie wouldn’t understand yet, not completely. Hesitance was natural- healthy, even. Nazi would just have a much more enjoyable time showing her that she had nothing to fear. “You’ve been hitting on me, too, with the pet name and the dancing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She considers bringing last night up, but Commie was blackout drunk, so maybe later. The leftist inhales deeply. “I… I have a little bit, but-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then you’ll take responsibility for what you awoke in me.” Moving her free hand down, Nazi takes Commie’s wrist in her grasp, feeling the violent beating of her pulse. “You understand what it means to maintain a legacy despite mainstream smearings. You understand what it’s like watching liberalism quake at the mention of you. I do, too. Nothing can change the way I feel about you now. I used to wish it could. Not anymore. You said I was improving the past few days. Commie, you make me want to pretend to be a better woman. We’ll make something beautiful together, won’t we?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Commie looks… Almost devastated, almost terrified, all the way beautiful. A smile manages to form on her face, empty, frightened, and beautiful. “... Of course. We will.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good.” Placing the gun down, Nazi brings both hands up to the other authoritarian’s face, holds her gently, pulls her in-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s funny how perception works. Nazi is almost certain she hears the </span>
  <b>crack</b>
  <span> before she registers the impact of Commie ramming her fist right where her ribs meet, feels the pain running through her chest like a spiderweb. It’s a daze, blurred and confused, and she hardly realizes what’s happening before a pair of hands are wrapped around her neck and she’s pinned to the ground, head smacking against the tile with such force that she sees fucking stars.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“ANCAP!” Commie </span>
  <em>
    <span>screams, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nazi realizing she’s being held down by the hands on her throat and the knee on her stomach, “CALL AN AMBULANCE AND GET DOWN HERE!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I called as soon as you stopped talking!” There’s the sound of somebody taking the stairs three at a time before Ancap comes skidding around the corner on her high heels, nearly drifting and careening onto the floor before regaining her balance and sprinting like hell towards Ancom. She almost trips at the sight of Nazi, pausing before a pure expression of </span>
  <em>
    <span>loathing</span>
  </em>
  <span> crosses her face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Unable to hide without your sunglasses.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Kicking the dropped pistol further away, Ancap hurries over to the left anarchist, rolling her onto her side and touching her neck. “There’s a pulse. It’s weak, but it’s there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Redress them and try to keep them warm.” As Ancap does just that, Nazi starts to weakly paw at Commie’s arms around her neck only to be lifted up and </span>
  <em>
    <span>slammed </span>
  </em>
  <span>back into the tiles, head bouncing off the floor again. Fuck, there’s no way she isn’t concussed. The left authoritarian turns her head back to Nazi, and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fury</span>
  </em>
  <span> that crosses that face… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her anger, too, is ethereally beautiful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You fucking fascist dog.” Commie all but spits, venom dripping from her voice, thick red waves of hair cloaking her face in shadow as she leans over Nazi. Maybe it’s a trick of Nazi’s brain being rapidly deprived of oxygen, but ruby eyes almost seem to glow in the willow-like shade granted by her hair. “I’m a fool for even dreaming you could be anything but dirt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Struggling, Nazi manages a few words despite the hands feeling like they’re prepared to crush her windpipe at any second. “Y-You don’t get it, I love-!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I get all I’ll ever need to know.” The leftist growls. “I was an idiot letting my guard down around you. Fascists, talking about love. Revolting. You don’t love me. It’s not even a case of ‘loving the idea of me’. The image you have in your head of some holy lover- it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> been close to who I am! You love some fantastical woman you made up in your fantasies and tried to project onto me, and now the woman I love is suffering for it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s like a gunshot going off, and Nazi is sure she must look every bit as horrified as she feels. “You- You and the degen- gyuh!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Commie almost </span>
  <span>laughs as she tightens her grip, </span>
  <span>rueful and angry. “I never told them. Tried to distract myself from the truth. Hit on other women to try and force it away. Hit on </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>of all people. But I loved them in Catalonia. I loved them in the Great Patriotic War. I loved them when your fucking brownshirts were torturing us in Chile. Let me tell you what I learned about love in that particular place, Nazi.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leaning in, Commie is close enough for Nazi to feel her breath on her face. Again, it could be the lack of oxygen, but with the kitchen light behind her head, Commie looks like a vengeful being coming to enact her divine judgement. “Under your rat Pinochetism and her orders? We saw each other with cattle brands pressed into our skin. We saw each other beaten to the point our faces weren’t recognizable. We saw each other be raped and paraded around to break our minds down. I loved Ancom every single day of it. And here’s what a fascist can never understand: love is not some holy state of being, some godly perfection performed for the benefit of others. Love is seeing them at their worst, watching each other fail and break into nothing, knowing you’ll spend your whole lives weak and flawed, and it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>loving them anyways</span>
  </em>
  <span><em>.</em> I am not yours. I never was.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Commie lifts her up by her neck one last time, burning in rage, furious in a way Nazi has never seen, and the last thought that crosses her mind before her head is forced to the ground a third time and her mind smashes into inky black is </span>
  <em>
    <span>So this is that fabled unrequited love. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When your best isn’t enough.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CONTENT WARNINGS BEGIN</p>
<p>- Sexual assault/rape (this depends on your definition of 'rape'. I would personally define it as such. But it is indisputably GRAPHIC SEXUAL ASSAULT OF A DRUGGED WOMAN)<br/>- Pedophilia/semi-graphic description of a past sexual assault of someone who was (physically) a preteen<br/>- Psychological abuse<br/>- Emotional abuse<br/>- Irresponsible weapons use<br/>- Heavier-than-canon violence<br/>- Choking</p>
<p>CONTENT WARNINGS END. SPOILERS BEGIN.</p>
<p>holy shit, you actually made it through? congratulations!</p>
<p>there we go- the culmination of a gradual march into insanity. how else can a fascist romance be expected to end, anyways?</p>
<p>but in any case, thank you for reading! i hope you'll stick around for the epilogue and some closure. if you want to yell at me/issue any story requests (i take them via DMs), i'm on twitter @commieochako and reddit /u/trippytankie. see you all soon!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. postmortem: salvaged from the ashes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>well. remember how this was supposed to be the ACTUAL last chapter? i lied again, this shit got away from me so fast and i didn't want the epilogue chapter to be twice as long as an average one so i'm splitting it into two parts. i'm so sorry for continuing to jerk people around w/ the finale but i had no idea it was gonna turn out so long, eep</p>
<p>but uh!!! in any case check the content warnings in the end notes if you think you need to, and enjoy the first half of the epilogue!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s almost ten PM, and Commie hasn’t said anything for the past three hours. Though neither has Ancap, so she supposes it’s just as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’ve been sitting outside the room the hospital staff put Ancom in ever since they got here. Or perhaps that wasn’t entirely true; Commie knows she’s gotten up twice to use the bathroom. She didn’t need to go, but she did need to scrub the cheek Nazi had touched until it was angry and red- even now, with the skin tingling in raw discomfort, the leftist swears she can feel the </span>
  <em>
    <span>stickiness </span>
  </em>
  <span>left from the fingers Nazi had shoved into-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Commie bites in the inside of her cheek hard enough to hurt, allowing the pain to bring her down. She had to make an active effort not to think about what she’d seen, what Nazi had smeared on her face. Instead, the left authoritarian takes a deep breath, trying to ground herself by doing a quick scan around her. Ancap was still there, silently staring at her hands and occasionally tilting her head up to glance at the variety of informational posters pinned on the board across the hallway. Commie has been looking at them too, long enough that she could probably recite them word-for-word with her eyes closed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Remember to cough into your elbow! It’s important to drink fifteen glasses of water per day! You’re a fucking moron if you thought the embodiment of fascism could ever change!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>None of them say that last one, obviously, but it’s all Commie can think about. She manages to tear her eyes off the corkboard and down to where her hands are folded in her lap. There’s a little bit of blood under her fingernails from how hard she’d dug her nails into Nazi’s neck. To get her out of the prying eyes from the soon-to-be-arriving paramedics, she had all but thrown the right authoritarian into her bedroom after she’d lost consciousness- or perhaps Commie had killed her, broken her neck with that final whip of her head into the kitchen tiles. She didn’t know. The more pressing matter at the time had been getting back down to Ancom, trying to make sure Ancap didn’t fuck up basic instructions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But if there’s one thing the right anarchist seems to know anything about medically-speaking, it was handling drug overdoses, the woman having moved the leftist into the recovery position and placed a throw blanket over their trembling form. They’d found Ancom’s current ID to give to the hospital and came up with a story while waiting for an ambulance: the girl had been pre-gaming before a party, and they’d taken too much GHB. Getting ideologies arrested was not the easiest task- holding them in goddamn concentration camps was easier, Commie remembered Germany and Chile very well, but when they were supposed to be investigated and tried like ordinary criminals… Well. Questions that couldn’t be answered without revealing world-shattering secrets tended to pop up. It didn’t go anywhere historically, and it wouldn’t start now. For all terms and purposes, Nazi (or Annemarie Ziegler, because for whatever fucking reason, Commie still remembered her name) wasn’t involved here at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>God. Commie was so fucking stupid. She’d fallen to optimism, started to believe that </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe things were getting better, maybe she was becoming a better woman, maybe if I stay by her side and encourage her along the correct path-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling her hands start to clench, Commie inhaled deeply, trying to relax a little before bringing one hand up to mess with one strand of her hair just to have something to do. Looping ruby-red locks around her finger before letting them go and watching it spring out into loose waves again, the left authoritarian knew any sort of distraction was just about hopeless. She’d gotten a little bit of the story of what had happened before she’d arrived out of Nazi, a tiny smidge of it out of Ancap while they were waiting for the ambulance, but adding it all up painted a beastly picture in her head. This wasn’t even particularly out of character for Nazi- maybe dirtying her own hands was, but Commie remembers the history she’d tried so hard to put behind her before while foolishly attempting to temper the right authoritarian. She knows the characteristics of fascism up close and personal, knows what it means for dissidents of all stripes who weren’t careful enough or who got caught too early to flee. It meant hands turning blue after hours tied over her head. It meant trying her best to treat another inmate’s festering infection after several of his teeth were removed with pliers. It meant having to repeat </span>
  <em>
    <span>I am a Marxist whore, I am a Marxist whore</span>
  </em>
  <span> for hours to stave off more beatings. And as she had to have known while dealing with an ideology that used hatred for women as a universal foundational brick, every single time, it meant rape.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ancom had been there with her. They knew that every bit as personally as she did. Hell, they’d been the one helping Commie clean up after she couldn’t handle looking at her own body anymore, pointed out the right plants from the camp fences with which to make herbal abortion tinctures in case the worst possible result came to pass. When she couldn’t bear it any longer, Ancom was the one there to mother her. Maybe she didn’t like admitting that they had a maturity to them she didn’t always possess. But the biggest difference between Commie and Ancom was that the anarchist had chosen to keep their distance from Nazi instead of trying to appeal to some imagined sense of righteousness in her. She’d told Ancom in the garden that she was giving the fascist another chance, said that </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone can be a good person if they try, can’t they?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Instead of taking Ancom’s concerns seriously, the left authoritarian had kept moving, kept trying to find humanity in the abyss, and now look what had happened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Commie had made a mistake, the worst possible kind. This was preventable. This never had to take place. But she’d allowed herself to fall into the idealism she accused Ancom of, thinking she could pull Nazi away from the fascistic death drive with enough care and empathy, and now the woman she had verbally admitted to loving for the first time ever tonight was paying for it. The one who’s only crime had been being close to Commie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(She doesn’t believe in any opiate of the masses, and she knows very well that life isn’t fair. But still, Commie poses a silent question to the uncaring emptiness- </span>
  <em>
    <span>if it had to happen, why couldn’t you have let it happen to me instead of them?</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pardon me- you two are Penelope Doyle and Ruslana Chernova, correct?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Head shooting up, Commie manages to pull herself out of the self hatred spiral long enough to see who just said her current name. An older man in scrubs with a clipboard in his hands was standing just outside the door to Ancom’s room. Commie recognizes him- that’s the nurse who’s been going back in and out of the room for hours- and it seems like Ancap does too, the other woman straightening up a bit and speaking her first words in hours. “That’s us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Commie had only learned Ancap’s current moniker when she’d overheard the rightist telling the nurse her information so all monetary charges would be billed to her. Under any other circumstances, the authoritarian might have rolled her eyes about how on-the-nose it was for Ancap to call herself ‘Penny’, but she wasn’t exactly in the mood for that then, and still wasn’t now. So instead, she nods silently as the nurse looks over his clipboard. “Well, Miss Ortiz woke up about fifteen minutes ago and is responding well to questions. We still have her receiving supplemental oxygen, but it’s more of a precaution. As far as we can tell, she’s avoided any brain damage, but we’d like to monitor her overnight just to be certain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can we see her?” Commie is almost shocked by how hoarse her voice sounds- she really did blow out her throat while screaming earlier, didn’t she?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The nurse, for his part, seems unbothered by the scratchy exhaustion in her tone. “You can head on in whenever you’re ready. The rest of my team will be popping in occasionally to check her vitals, but we’ll be cleared out in a moment or two.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Hoping that her nod doesn’t look as stiff as it feels, Commie gets to her feet, noting the deep ache in her legs after sitting for so long in a small chair. She doesn’t have her coat (or her ushanka, for that matter- both strewn around somewhere in that house during the chaos), just her blouse and skirt, and to be without her two most reliable articles of clothing in such a situation wasn’t doing much to relax her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All while stressing about that and trying to figure out what to say, there’s a little cough from behind her, and Commie turns to see Ancap standing as well, though she’s rooting through her handbag. “You go see them. I’m going to have a smoke.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Raising an eyebrow, Commie tilts her head. “You can’t wait five minutes after all the time we spent sitting here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ancap flicks her eyes up, sunglasses too low on her nose to hide anything. There’s… A very specific type of </span>
  <em>
    <span>exhaustion</span>
  </em>
  <span> in her expression, something Commie has seen before from soldiers who had to mercy-kill their mortally wounded comrades, but certainly not on the right anarchist. Her grip on her cigarette carton is tight enough to crunch the flimsy casing, but her face lacks a matching intensity. She just looks… incomplete. Emptiness in the space where something bright once was. “... I doubt they’ll want to see me right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her voice matched her expression, to say the least. Despite everything, some part of Commie’s chest aches for her, but she can still recognize that she isn’t the person who can help the rightist. She and Ancap never got along- it would probably just be patronizing at this point if she tried to play therapist. Some battles weren’t hers to try and fight, and the other woman was probably thinking about how Ancom might feel about her at that particular moment. So instead, the leftist nods, pulling her own gaze to the floor. “Okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ancap makes a non-committal noise, seemingly more to acknowledge that she’d heard Commie than to offer a response, and by the time Commie pulls her eyes off the floor, Ancap has already made large strides down the hallway in the direction of the guest exit. Would she even come back? Hopefully, given that Schrodeigner’s Nazi could very well be alive and prowling around. Trying to keep any thoughts about the fascist at bay, Commie steps back to make room for the last few medical staff leaving Ancom’s room. One man, seemingly another nurse, spares a glance and a nod in Commie’s direction as he closes the door behind him. “You’re good to go in and talk to Row-shee-oh whenever you’re ready.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though Commie’s first instinct would be to correct the absolute butchering of Ancom’s current name (seriously, how hard was it to pronounce Rocío?), she’s anxious to see the girl, and so she just nods in thanks, inhaling deeply before placing a hand on the doorknob and pushing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a normal hospital room, unsurprisingly. The view, instantly visible on the far wall as Commie enters, is pretty- the city may be full of light pollution, but what few stars remained were twinkling brightly in the night sky. They’re far from her first concern, though. That honour belongs to Ancom, sitting up in their bed with a mess of tubes and wires either in their arm or snaking under their flimsy hospital gown, though the most distinctive one is taped to their cheek and entering through a nostril. Their thick hair, currently lacking those distinctive low pigtails, just brushes their shoulders and almost seems to bounce when their head turns to see who’s entering. That said, Ancom seems far from bouncy- their face is caught somewhere in the valley between hard stoicism and abject misery, meaning Commie can’t seem to find the ‘best’ possible greeting without taking a painfully long look at their expression for further analysis. So instead, she lets the door close behind her, stands awkwardly several feet away. “I, um- hello. The nurses said you were awake.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Looks like they were right. Here I am, bright and chipper.” Ancom’s sarcasm didn’t usually carry that sullen edge to it, and it was extremely rare to hear such a morose tone during peacetime. Their hands sat above the blankets in their lap, fingers laced together like a parishioner, and the unreadable way they regarded Commie was almost enough to make her shirk away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she wouldn’t be the ideology she was if she hid, for better or for worse, and Commie clears her throat somewhat nervously. “Yes. So… May I take a se-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sit here, it’s the only chair that doesn’t have a squeaky leg. Fucking tired of those noises.” Ancom interrupts her to point to the roller chair on the far side of their bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The anarchist is tense- that much is obvious in their clipped tone and the hunch to their shoulders. Commie does as she’s told, moving towards the chair and pretending not to feel the eyes watching her like a hawk as she takes a seat. There’s a moment of silence after she settles in, not knowing what to say and Ancom seeming uneager to start any conversation, instead picking at their fingernails. Maybe she should have thought about this in the hallway instead of wallowing in her own self-loathing, but hindsight was always 20/20.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Like how trusting a fascist would only lead to suffering for everyone around you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> some voice in the back of her head mocks her, and Commie does her best to force it back, speaking more or less just to fill the silence. “... Are you feeling alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a half-hearted shrug, Ancom briefly brought her hand up to chew at a cuticle. “I’m not dying anymore, which I guess counts for something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For ideologies, death was relatively manageable, but the months in and out of a vague state of consciousness before you reform… They weren’t pleasant. “Good. That’s very good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sit in silence for a few more uncomfortable seconds before Ancom sighs, still focused on picking at their nails as they spoke. “Look. I know you think I’m too much of a fragile little bird to just be upfront with me, but spare me it this time. Just ask whatever you’re beating around the bush about.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even if Ancom liked getting to the point, they weren’t usually this rough about it. On top of that, Commie could see green eyes turned her way, watching her carefully for any movements even as their fingers moved like they were still inspecting their hands. Clever. They’d always been clever. Taking a deep breath, Commie considers continuing to dance around the topic, but gives up on that before she begins. No need to make things harder on the other leftist than she already had. “... How much do you remember?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wanna say ‘everything’, but I guess if I missed something, I wouldn’t even know.” Ancom shrugs, the jerk of their shoulders almost robotic in how harsh the movement was. It was painful, watching them make themselves so small while also clearly trying to project an aggressive exterior- it reminded Commie too much of an injured animal, a terrified and bloodied cat hissing furiously from the corner the fox had backed it into. “I ate half of an edible way earlier in the day, but I know for a fact I didn’t touch any GHB. So was it Nazi that drugged me, or what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ancap had explained this to an extent while they waited for the ambulance, so Commie purses her lips and nods. “As far as I understand, yes. Nazi drugged your beverage and attempted to make Ancap…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She trails off, unsure of how to begin here, and Ancom utters a joyless chuckle. “Yeah, I remember that part. And then what went down after. So Nazi has some fucking yan-whatever crush on you, huh? Figures.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pursing her lips, Commie is now the one staring at her own hands, calloused palms staring up at her from where they sat in her lap. Where else was she supposed to look? “I’m not sure what happened aside from what Ancap told me and from what I saw. She’s having a smoke at the moment, just so you know she hasn’t left. Did you tell the doctors anything else you might need to be treated for?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ancom narrows their eyes, head tilting slightly. “How the fuck would I even explain any of the other shit? ‘Oh yeah, thanks for the tube in my nose, while you’re here do you think you could check out my box for nail cuts? Totally unrelated to the drug overdose, I just randomly woke up this morning feeling like I got fingerbanged by Wolverine’. Think that would go over well?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not so much the vulgarity that bothers her (Ancom’s always been like that and Commie has never been one to blanche at language) but the hurt behind it. The anarchist’s emotional walls are up, metaphorical hackles raised, hands clenching the bedsheets tightly. She can’t blame them for it- she’s never been quite sure how to react when something like this happened to her in the past, after all. All she wants to do is help, and so Commie shakes her head. “No, not like that, I just… I don’t know all of what happened, or if you were injured in a way they wouldn’t have looked for considering we told them it was just a drug overdose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re always like this whenever something happens to me!” Abruptly and with an unnatural jerkiness, Ancom throws their arms up in their air, limbs stiff and tense. Their chest is rising and falling a little faster, and Commie can see the lines on the heart monitor they’re attached to start to speed up. “I can take care of myself. If I had some kind of problem, I would have fucking told them, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s known Ancom for just under a century now, and Commie is familiar with all their tells- she can recognize when they’re bluffing at cards, when they’re getting bored during a theory study session, and when they’re on the verge of a breakdown. Slowly standing from her chair, the communist doesn’t approach any further, allows their eyes to dart over her and check for any threat before she speaks. “... May I touch your hand?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my god.” Crossing their arms over their chest, Ancom stares down at the sheets, muttering something under their breath. The heart monitor is still going up. That’s not good. “You’re still doing it! You don’t need to ask to touch me. I’m not- I’m not fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>broken </span>
  </em>
  <span>now, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you think I was broken when you asked to touch me in Buenos Aires?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Commie’s impassive question brings a silence over the room (save for the heart monitor, which does seem to at least be decreasing in pace). Ancom is still staring down, but the authoritarian can recognize when they’re unearthing memories- they still remember being trapped with her in Argentina, hunted down by a Triple A death squad and imprisoned in the same concentration camp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>(“I’m going to lift up your skirt, and then I’m going to move your legs apart so I can see if there’s any damage. Is that alright?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay.” Maybe in another place, another time, hearing Ancom talk about opening her legs would have made Commie into a bumbling mess. But this was here and now, the autumn of 1977, and the communist isn’t sure she’s ever going to be able to feel that sort of attraction to anyone ever again. The anarchist’s voice is uncharacteristically even and serious, which is only serving to spike Commie’s anxiety levels about how beat-up she must look. She’s lying back on her straw-stuffed mattress, something she finds infinitely more comfortable than the luxurious silk blankets and cashmere bedding she had been strewn out on about twenty minutes ago. For all the poking straw against her back and the broiling South American heat in the poorly ventilated prisoner quarters, there’s no flurry of hands holding her arms down, no mockery and jeers as the little fascist boy’s club egg each other on, no reverberating sounds of her own furious screams as they eventually turned to pained cries and shameful pleas for them to stop. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No, this is much better. When Ancom raises the tattered fabric of her peasant skirt, warm hands gently pushing her thighs apart, it’s so very different from a variety of hands pulling hard enough that she almost feared dislocation. But in either case, she’s still staring at a grey ceiling, now listening to the anarchist’s amateur diagnosis. “Mm. I can’t speak for anything internal, but externally, it doesn’t look too bad. Bruising, but nothing’s torn, least as far as I can see. I can clean you up a bit before I put on some bruise salve.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s nonetheless a relief that her lower half isn’t nearly as mangled as it feels, though the mention of bruising worries Commie. Not nearly as much as what might happen if they don’t clean up the… Leavings… From the soldiers. She knows she isn’t the only imprisoned woman who was randomly called into the junior officers’ quarters after the weekly, wine-filled Friday evening dinner for those operating the concentration camps, and she won’t be the last. The remaining smell of roast chicken and some kind of savoury broth is still making her salviate- all they’re getting right now is half-bowls of beans twice a day. Even so, hearing her name be called and having to slowly walk from the women’s half of the prisoner barracks to where their captors slept, knowing damn well what happened to the other women summoned… It was like walking herself to the gallows. “Where did you get salve?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Made it myself. I got some St. John’s wort from the north fence, managed to barter off some hairclips to the lady who brings water jugs in exchange for the beeswax, and- well, more of the same for the rest of the ingredients.” Feeling the fabric of her skirt be lowered again, Commie’s eyes follow movement until they see Ancom standing over her. She also looks like a total wreck- even discounting the bruising around her right eye from getting the butt of a rifle in the face earlier, she’s gaunt and tired. The lovely pink blush over dark olive skin has long since been replaced by a ghoulishly pale complexion, and Commie knows she must be hiding similar injuries to her own under her clothing. Even so, the anarchist has been tending to everyone around her whenever she gets the chance, neglecting her own sleep and mental rest to try and get everyone else’s back in check. Commie gets it- it’s easier to distract yourself from your own pain by trying to heal others. The artificial brilliance provided by the searchlights flashes behind her as it passes a window, and for one moment as the rays illuminate her silhouette, Commie can almost picture her ангел with a pair of wings. “But I won’t touch you unless you’re okay with that. Are you?”)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t think you were.” Ancom’s quiet voice is still enough to bring Commie back into reality, into this new world decades later with a reversed order. The girl’s head is tilted, their eyes staring up at the authoritarian with both exhaustion and the first hints of vulnerability. “I was just helping you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I’m doing this for the same reason.” Pulling her chair forwards, Commie sits down before offering out her hand, an offer that is eventually reciprocated by Ancom, the two women spending several minutes with their hands interlocked in a familiar silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s perhaps exactly what Ancom needed- no false comfort, no faux wisdom, just a few minutes to catch their breath and process everything. Their heart monitor is back to normal, which is at the very least a good sign for the future. Eventually, the anarchist sighs, running their thumb over Commie’s knuckles. “Sorry if I’m being a bitch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright. I think after everything, you’re entitled to be angry.” Commie swallows the urge to spill out apology after apology and instead just shrugs, leading to a halfhearted nod from Ancom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe.” With things returned to a temporary normality (perhaps next to normal- they were far from conventional people), Ancom’s voice takes on slightly more life, if not exactly cheer, as she continues to speak. “I almost forgot about Buenos Aires. Place was a goddamn hellhole.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Commie’s not exactly a social maverick, but she can at least understand that Ancom may not want to discuss any of what had just happened. Maybe she just… Needed some time to be their little version of ‘normal’. So instead of talking about drugs or Nazi or any of what had occurred earlier that evening, Commie allows her mind to drift back to their time in Buenos Aires, mentioning a shared historical piece. “Even so, I remember you helping people there. You gave out a lot of those salves and creams. I still remember it so clearly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lips seemingly considering curving into a smile, Ancom shrugs, no robotic or angry jerks to their movement this time. “Eh. I’ve been good at herbalism for a while. We all do whatever we can to help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was almost a running joke amongst some of us stuck there. You had something for everything.” Smiling to herself, Commie pauses to try and recall a few English words she knows she hasn’t used for decades. “Bruise salve, cramp relief teas, sunburn creams, anything they needed. You would have made a good apothecary back in the old days.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s another little break in their flow of conversation, Ancom opening and then closing their mouth a few times before a quiet murmur leaves them. “I started studying it a while before we wound up in the same camp. I was dealing with the consequences of a mistake, so I felt I had to make sure it would never happen again. Can’t do basic goddamn math, but I guess I’m good at natural remedies.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The air doesn’t feel quite right all of a sudden, like something is hanging over Commie’s head that she hasn’t figured out yet. Before she can say anything, though, Ancom is speaking quickly, words tossed out like they’re afraid they’ll lose them if they don’t utter them at that exact second in time. “Did I tell you anything about Faustino? Faustino Juarez?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With their impeccable American accent (that Commie would never admit to being somewhat envious of), sometimes it’s easy to forget Ancom’s native tongue until they actually say something in Spanish. Wracking her brain for any mention of the name, Commie finds her memory turning up blank. “No, or at least I don’t think you did. Who is that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a moment, Ancom’s eyes crinkle, and Commie swears she can see the hints of a smile forming. “He was a comrade of mine back in Argentina. He was really well-respected around the anarchist circles I floated through, which is how I met him. We hit it off well- worked together super well, too. We started dating about a year before the coup.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It might have been uncomfortable for a normal person to hear too much about the past partners of the person they were in love with, but it didn’t phase Commie much- over the past hundred years, both leftists had loved many boys, loved many girls, loved many </span>
  <em>
    <span>people</span>
  </em>
  <span> in general (or just girls on Commie’s side of things, not counting the men she’d felt an obligation to ‘comfort’ during wartime). Falling in love with painfully mortal humans was more a fact of life for ideologies, and so she simply nodded. “I see. I don’t recall you mentioning a boyfriend to me during that period.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There was kind of a reason for that.” Leaning back in the bed, Ancom reached up to poke at their nose tube half-heartedly before continuing. “I didn’t start off in Buenos Aires like you did. We mostly operated around Cordoba at the start of the dictatorship period. Faustino got caught around four months before I did. I… Didn’t get the chance to tell him I was pregnant before he was imprisoned.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Commie can only hope she doesn’t look half as stunned as she feels. “... You never said anything about that before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s why I started getting so into herbal stuff- because they were next to impossible to get done at a clinic, abortion tinctures were the first thing I learned to make.” Ancom pushes a thick lock of hair behind their ear, revealing some makeup stains still caked on the side of their face. “I didn’t take it as soon as I found out, though. I wanted Faustino to know before I terminated it, so we could at least talk about it as a couple. I really thought he’d be back in a few weeks- that’s how optimistic we all felt about the coup getting overturned.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though she wouldn’t admit it, Commie had been experiencing some similar feelings around that time. How wrong they were. “When did you see him next?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When I saw his body hanging from a lamp post.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe she should have seen that one coming, knowing what she knew about the brutality of the Dirty War, but it still threw Commie off her rhythm. Or maybe it was just the calm, emotionless way Ancom said it. “I… I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We all lost people we cared about.” The smaller girl shrugs, suddenly seeming very tiny adminst the large machines and sizable bed. “But I decided not to terminate it at that point. I know it was a stupid idea. Even putting aside the ‘literally not a human’ bit, I’m a total fucking wreck. I’d be a really shit mom. But… I guess I was being selfish. I wanted something- someone- to remember him by. So I kept it. Or I tried to, at the very least.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All of a sudden, Commie remembers something very specific about the regime, and she can feel the blood drain from her face. Ancom chuckles without an ounce of humour at the sight of her. “Putting the pieces together?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hands clenching her knees, Commie speaks almost clinically, recalling the paperwork she’d seen years later during the trials. “Over five hundred pregnant leftist women held prisoner until they gave birth before being tortured and murdered. The newborns were given to loyal supporters of the regime to be raised as their own.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn't get to hold him.” Ancom‘s voice is quiet, almost drowned out by the noises of the heater on the wall. “They just snipped the cord, wrapped him in blankets, and carried him out. Then they shot me in the head.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not even that this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>shocking</span>
  </em>
  <span> per se, considering Commie knew all of this had happened very intimately. There was a reason the dictatorship had mainly gone for those in their late teens to mid thirties- they were aiming to wipe out an entire generation of ‘subversives’, whether they be hardline Marxists or illiterate peasants who were tired of being worked to death. It was why two ideologies, neither looking older than twenty at the time, had been trapped in South America for so long- their ability to move freely as ‘young’ people was dramatically limited. Still, hearing all this from someone as bright as </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ancom </span>
  </em>
  <span>is gnawing at her from an angle she’d never experienced before. “I’m very sorry that happened to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All she has is platitudes. What else can she possibly say to that? What Nazi had said to her earlier about ‘breeding’ is only making this realization worse. Ancom hums a bit, an old Chilean tune this time, before turning back to Commie. “I came back in a few months, obviously, but the catch? I can’t even try and track my son down. He’s probably still alive, might not even know he was stolen. But I’m supposed to be dead, and I still look like a college kid. He would never believe me even if I could find him. I just have to live with this forever.” Raising their head a bit, the cheap hospital lights illuminate their face, green eyes moistening quickly despite their unreadable expression. “All this was dictated by the fascist coup directors. So much of what we’ve been through has been thanks to them and their little fucking neoliberal warhawks in the imperial core. So can you be honest with me- just for once- when I ask you why you thought Nazi could ever change?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Guilt grows inside Commie’s stomach, threatening to consume her from the inside out. She wants an easy answer; she wants to be able to explain it all away. Even more than that, she’s starting to think she wants the angry, scared Ancom from before back- the woman on the bed in front of her is placid, staring her down with a blank expression, tearful eyes, but no signs of the judgement she deserves. They’re just… Asking. Just asking her why. And somehow, this is worse than interrogation. Now it’s Commie’s turn to stare at the hands in her lap as if they can provide her with a reason for her near-fatal error. “... I don’t know. I don’t think I have any answers for you. Maybe I just wanted it to be true. Imagine the good that could be done for the world if fascism was less of a looming threat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But we can’t reason with fascists.” Ancom speaks, voice so uncharacteristically calm. “You of all people should know what a fucked up, purposeless ideology that is. It can’t be talked down. It can’t be beaten with truth. All it does is tear lives apart, block out whatever sunny spots we have in our time on earth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s true. It’s all true, and perhaps that’s why it hurts so badly. Now it’s Commie’s turn to chuckle humorlessly, more of a sharp exhale than anything else. “Usually in this kind of discussion, our positions are reversed, aren’t they? I’m not supposed to be the idealist romanticizing these things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Guess you’re right on that part.” Ancom’s voice cracks on the last word, and Commie tilts her head up to see that the threatened tears have finally started spilling down the girl’s cheeks, her blank facade starting to break at the seams. “God fucking dammit. Tan- Commie, I don’t… I don’t know why all this has to happen to us. Why do we even exist? Why do we have to go through this again and again? Why does the world seem more determined to shut </span>
  <em>
    <span>us</span>
  </em>
  <span> down than to stop anyone else?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The anarchist barely manages to finish their sentence before burying their face into their hands, bursting into gut-wrenching sobs that must have been a long time coming. Commie knows what she wants to do- she wants to pick them up, carry them out of this room, out of this hospital, take them somewhere safe where nothing could ever touch either of them ever again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But this is entirely her fault in the first place, a completely preventable disaster brought on by her own blind optimism. She can’t save Ancom. She might not be able to save anyone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So she acknowledges it will hurt, acknowledges she’ll likely fail, and she tries anyways.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Commie sits in silence, hand on Ancom’s shoulder as the girl presses her face into her palms and </span>
  <em>
    <span>wails.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s an awful sound, anguish and rage and shame interlacing in a cacophonous noise one hundred years in the making. It’s the grieving cries of a lover, of a revolutionary, of a dead girl, of an immortal, of a mother, of a child, everything they have been and ever will be pouring out in a bereavement that was long overdue. Commie used to see them as overly emotional, but it’s becoming increasingly obvious how much hurt they were actually holding back. She doesn’t interfere, just stays by their side as Ancom sobs, allowing them to properly mourn everything and everyone they had lost. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, the tears slow to a trickle, the weeps turn into whimpers, and Ancom pulls their hands away from their face, breathing heavily. “Fuck. I’m such a pussy. Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You aren’t, and don’t apologize.” Patting their shoulder, Commie hums under her breath, still formulating her response. “... I might have a theory about that question of yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ancom makes a sound in between a chuckle and a sniffle, wiping their nose on the bedsheets. “Was more of a theoretical question than anything else, y’know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I figured as much, but I still have an idea. We threaten the ruling class while fascists cozy up to them and reward them. But…” Commie pauses, closes her eyes for a minute, allows herself to feel the blood of a million martyred revolutionaries run through her veins, to remember the faces of generation after generation who were so badly hurt by the world that they couldn’t help but try and save it. She breathes deeply, opens her eyes again. “... Do you think they would spend so much time propagandizing against us, imprisoning us, killing us, if we weren’t a serious threat? If we didn’t have a fighting chance?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ancom is leaning back, head tilted upwards to stare at the ceiling, looking almost pensive as they chew on that idea. Eventually, they break into a grin- a real one- and turn their head to the side to look at the authoritarian. “You’re right about the positions being reversed, little miss optimist. Who are you and what did you do with Tankie?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Smiling back, Commie pauses before reaching over the small barrier on the side of the bed again, offering her hand. “We all change with the conditions around us. It’s how we grow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You and your material conditions.” Reaching to take her hand, Ancom runs her thumb over Commie’s knuckles, smile fading slightly. “... So what now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“After everything that happened lately. What are we gonna do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A good question, and not one Commie’s sure she has the answer to. A part of her wants to get as far away from this city as possible. Perhaps she should ask Juche if she was willing to help her with the complicated paperwork necessary to get herself temporarily settled in Pyongyang. But… Ancom probably wouldn’t want to live there, and even if it’s her own selfishness speaking, Commie finds herself not wanting to leave the anarchist’s side. “We could try finding an apartment in another province. If you’ll have me, that is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ancom giggles, the happy sound after so much misery making Commie’s heart jump in her chest. “You’re too formal sometimes, you know that? You don’t gotta ask so politely after all these years.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But after everything that happened because of me-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tankie.” Raising their free hand to quiet the authoritarian, Ancom fixes her with a pointed look. “Did you tell Nazi to do any of that?” Watching Commie quietly shake her head, the smaller woman nods. “That’s what I thought. Don’t shift blame onto anyone but her- it absolves her of full guilt for what happened. She made her choices.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Opening her mouth to protest, to insist she somehow be punished more for what had occurred, Commie sighs instead. “... Alright. If you say so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do say so.” Squeezing her hand a little tighter, Ancom’s eyes drift from Commie to the window behind her, a smile drifting onto her face. “I’m gonna text Ancap in a little to ask if she’ll come in, but before... I think an apartment for the two of us does sound good. We can plan our next moves together, do some local organizing- might be kinda nice, even. Maybe we can get one with a balcony. I wanna restart our garden.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They weren’t going to be able to see the vegetables they’d planted here- Commie knew she was never going back into that house. But, as Ancom holds her hand tightly, the city lights outside illuminating dried tear tracks and a hopeful glimmer in green eyes… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles, meeting the anarchist’s eyes. “I would very much enjoy that, Ancom.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were both out of the fire- not unburnt, scarred in ways that could mar them for the rest of their lives. But with the flames behind them, perhaps it was time to build something better from the ashes.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CONTENT WARNINGS</p>
<p>- References to real historical torture and rape (including specific incidents recalled by survivors of Operator Condor, along with the child kidnappings of the NRP)<br/>- References to past pregnancy <br/>- Discussion of abortion</p>
<p>CONTENT WARNINGS END. SPOILERS BEGIN. </p>
<p>figured i had to get that sweet sweet commie pov in at least once before this fic was over</p>
<p>thank you for reading!! we'll have the real final chapter very soon (closing things up on nazi's end), and i wanted to ask something before that: if i started a discord server for fans of fem! centricide stuff, would anyone be interested in joining? i tossed the possibility around on twitter a while back but figured people who were reading this fic might be into the idea, so if you'd like to meet other Political Ideology Girl Enjoyers, do let me know in the comments and if there's enough interest i'll make a server and add a link in the end notes of next chapter!!! as always, i'd be very grateful if you could leave a comment or kudos, and i'll see you soon!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. postmortem: burnt beyond recognition</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WOOHOO FINAL CHAPTER FOR REAL THIS TIME</p><p>ok ok first things first: i made the server for Political Ideology Girl Enjoyers! here's the link if you want to join, i'll link it at the end of the chapter as well: https://discord.gg/ac53geJdVg</p><p>i'll save my thank-yous for the end of the chapter, but as per always, there's content warnings there if you need them!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s been a day since Nazi woke up, and about as long since the incident that put her out of commission took place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hasn’t left the house. She’s fine, though. It’s all fine. She’s sick a lot, and the light hurts her eyes, and every so often her ears ring so loudly it feels like it’s the end of the fucking world. But it’s going to be fine. Nazi did what she had to do. She ruined Ancom. She’ll never be dirt-free again. So all she has to do is wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Commie will come back.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The days are blurry, tranquil, spent in a beautiful and balmy daze. Sometimes it feels like Nazi is swimming through a thick mental syrup, forgetting what she’s doing in the middle of doing it, letting her mind drift into the comfortable darkness, and she only realizes something has happened when she wakes up on the floor. She’s set off the smoke alarm once or twice due to this unfortunate new habit, and she did very nearly bash her head off the faucet during a shower. But she needs to eat, and she can’t just not be clean for whenever Commie comes back, admitting she was wrong, falling into Nazi’s arms, pressing her lips against her neck again. So it’s necessary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s weird that she hasn’t seen anyone since that night. But it’s fine. She can wait.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>It’s about five days when Nazi’s concussion finally starts to heal up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s more or less when the other shoe drops, with predictable chaos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first step is, of course, denial. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing is wrong. I didn’t do anything wrong and Commie knows it. She’ll come back any minute now. The doorbell will ring and she’ll be there. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was rather tricky to hold up without a head injury to hide the truth. That only lasted her about three hours. Anger lasted much longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over those two days, Nazi’s fists put enough holes through the wall that perhaps it could be mistaken for an architectural choice. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That bitch. That worthless Bolshevik whore doesn’t even know what she left behind. </span>
  </em>
  <span>She wants to hunt Commie down, grab her by the neck and drag her back. She wants to put her in a collar chained to a wall, tell her nobody is looking for her, beat her and starve her and touch her until the communist learns to love it. She wants her righteous justice, and that will look like Commie at her feet, adoring eyes like an abused dog who keeps limping back to its master. But she can’t have any of that, so Nazi rages like a child denied her desired toy, kicks furniture, screams until her throat is raw, bites her own arms hard enough to bleed after the destruction of her environment leaves her with no other release for the rage boiling up inside her. It still does very little. Her fury is hot and bright, but it does burn out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then it’s bargaining.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: I’m sorry you had to see that</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: I wouldn’t have done it if I knew it would upset you so much</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: Please come back</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: Please</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: I’ll apologize to the degenerate if that’s what you want</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: I promise I will</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: Answer your phone please</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: I’ve called you forty seven times now</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: What do you want me to do for you to come back?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: Just say the word</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: Answer me please</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: Commie</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: Commie </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: Commie</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: You must know deep down that we were made for each other, don’t you?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: There’s so much we still have to do together</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: So please pick up</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: Or at least respond to me</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: You realize how much I love you, don’t you?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: I’m texting you like some feeble-minded lovesick fool</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: Just for you</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: Commie</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: Commie</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Fascism </b>
  <em>
    <span>(@ziegler1488)</span>
  </em>
  <span>: Commie please pick up</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She knows she was probably blocked since before she even sent the first text. It doesn’t stop her from spending the next three days obsessively running up her phone bill, pleading, attempting to strike some kind of deal with the dead air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t work. That’s about when the depression kicks in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nazi barely moves for the next week, barely eats. She crawls out of bed (Commie’s bed, specifically, having wrapped herself in the leftist’s blankets to try and at least have her scent again) to use the bathroom and occasionally to get whatever food she can keep down. Other than that, she’s staring at the wall, entropy enveloping her like a cape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps this was some kind of cosmic punishment for her fall to degeneracy. Perhaps Nazi deserved this suffering. It was destined since the beginning, she’s certain. There’s always a plan, always a conspiracy plotting against her. The universe isn’t random- everything that has ever happened was part of a predestined plan, hiding just under her nose. So this was likely a failed endeavor from the start, no chance of success.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t know if that makes her feel better or worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last step is acceptance, but Nazi isn’t sure she’s actually hit that one by the time she manages to drag herself out of bed. She finally takes a shower, which must count for something. She doesn’t get all the way into her normal clothing- the hat stays behind, as does the armband. If she’s going to make her first venture outdoors in ages, the last thing she needs is to be arrested for her political garb. So when Nazi finally makes her way outside, it’s just in her blouse and skirt, boots clicking on the sidewalk as she struggles to get her eyes to adjust to the sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What now? She wasn’t exactly keen on spending much more time in that ruined house (why hadn’t Ancap sent someone to kick her out yet?), but going back to her current house didn’t appeal either. It was large and elegant, but very… Empty. Nazi wasn’t sure she could handle much more emptiness, not with the void gnawing in her chest as is. So instead of worrying about her housing situation, she just walks on. She’s relatively sure she’s close to a small plaza, anyways. Didn’t Commie buy vodka from one store in the centre?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, she couldn’t keep thinking about the left authoritarian. Shaking her head, Nazi turns a corner, finding herself in the plaza in question. It’s not particularly exciting- very little in the northern half of this province is- but it isn’t the house, which is saying something. Even so, she’s not particularly interested in any of the stores. Maybe she should take a page out of Commie’s book and buy an obscene amount of alcohol to handle her problems. She’s seriously considering it when a girl by the bus stop catches her eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a shock of pure white hair tumbling down her back in thick waves, she probably would have stood out even if she wasn’t the only one there. Struggling to keep her small pile of suitcases from toppling over, the girl finally braces them against a black legging-clad limb to fish a crumpled piece of paper out of the pocket of her purple duffel coat. Unfolding it (a map?), the girl held it up to examine it, finally giving Nazi a clear look at her face. She was pale, her youthful features scrunched up in confusion as she tried to make sense of whatever was on the paper. She squints, bites her lip slightly, and- huh. That does look a bit like Commie when she’s thinking, doesnt it? If anything, though, the slight tilt of her head is something Nazi knows she’s prone to doing while looking for answers, and her hands are delicate and small like her own. And is-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. That </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> an ushanka hanging off one of the bags.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Could this be...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Nazi is rapidly striding forwards before she even realizes it, raising a hand to get her attention. “Pardon me, but you look a bit lost. Can I help you find what you’re looking for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl’s violet eyes flick up, and Nazi’s heart jumps. Their shape is so similar to Commie’s, though opened a bit wider than usual in surprise. “Oh! I’m looking for my fr- Weeeeeell, I don’t know them quite yet, but they’re going to be my friends, and I’m looking for their house. I just got here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice is a little squeaky, accent decidedly not Russian, but it’s making the fascist’s heartbeat rise rapidly. “I figured, with your suitcases. What’s their address? I might be able to turn you in the right direction.” Nazi sincerely hopes she doesn’t sound nearly as exhilarated at this discovery as she feels. If her gut is right here…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the girl reads off the address of the house she was looking for, Nazi’s heart almost jumps into her throat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Holy shit, that’s Ancap’s. Holy fucking shit.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Looking up, the girl tilts her head again, snowy locks falling around her shoulders again. “So do you know how to get there? Oh, I’m Zuzanna, by the way! I should have started with that, ehehe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her laugh is shrill, annoying, and Nazi is instantly in love with it. The tiny creatures in her mind are awake again, howling, fighting each other for a glimpse through her eyes at this newcomer. “That’s a nice name. Before I tell you mine, though, I’m a bit curious as to what has you coming to my house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Confusion falls over her expression that is quickly replaced by an overwhelming excitement, and ‘Zuzanna’ all but throws the map to the ground before grabbing Nazi’s hands in her own, toothy smile wide and a little too sharp. “Oh my goodness! You’re- Oh, I should have known right away! You’re Nazi!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Fascist, but that name is fine too.” The accent isn’t Russian (Nazi has been prowling around Poland too recently as of late to not recognize this girl’s speech patterns as hailing from the region after this much rambling), but it’s close enough that Nazi wants to pounce her on the spot. Still, she restrains herself, smiling elegantly. “I thought I might have an idea as to who you are, Nazbol.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know me?!” If it’s even possible, Nazbol’s smile gets wider, her hands squeezing Nazi’s’ through purple knitted mittens. “Kyaaah! You’re even more graceful than I thought you’d be! What a perfect Aryan lady!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She has indeed heard a lot about Nazbol. This girl is crazy, if she recalls correctly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>a total fucking psycho bitch</span>
  </em>
  <span> if Ancap’s words from once upon a time were to be believed. But… Perhaps, after everything, so is Nazi. Nazbol isn't Commie- they’re different in some devastatingly important ways. But as the girl giggles to herself, mumbles something about ‘telling the wackies about this’, Nazi can feel a familiar heat rising in her chest. Oh yes, she’s different from Commie:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nazbol might not run away, no matter how many red flags are raised</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s been some… Unfortunate events surrounding the Centricide,” Nazi begins, choosing her words carefully. “But I’d be more than happy to bring you home and explain things a little further.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding rapidly, Nazbol squeals in excitement, releasing Nazi’s hands only to fumble with her suitcases. “Oh, what good luck running into you! Yes, please take me there!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here, I’ll help you walk those back.” Taking a suitcase off the pile, Nazi watches as the girl hurries to get the rest of the pile into a more manageable shape, tugging them along. She looks over at Nazi, pale skin lit up with a blush, and the fascist realizes something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck the stages of grief. Acceptance? Not necessary. She can just start over again. This one isn’t perfect, but with enough time and fundamental reshaping, she’ll make a lovely substitution. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And this time,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Nazi thinks, reaching up to pat Nazbol’s shoulder,</span>
  <em>
    <span> I won’t make the mistake of letting you get away. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhere amidst the ashes, a new spark catches the remaining tinder. The fire pulls her back in. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CONTENT WARNINGS BEGIN</p><p>- Brief mention of self-injury<br/>- References to sexual assault</p><p>CONTENT WARNINGS END. SPOILERS BEGIN.</p><p> </p><p>well, this has been an incredibly fun fic to write! dark, yes, but overall extremely enjoyable, and a lot of that was thanks to you all. i seriously love and appreciate every single kudos and comment left for me, so thank you so much for all the kindness you've shown me throughout the course of this wild ride!</p><p>i'm definitely going to stick around and keep writing female centricide stuff, and i'd love if you stuck around to see more! once again, here's the link to the discord server for fem centricide content ( https://discord.gg/ac53geJdVg ), so come check that out to meet fellow minded folks! thank you all again, and i hope to see you soon with more content!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CONTENT WARNINGS:</p><p>- Taking advantage of an intoxicated individual (in this case, undressing/groping).</p><p>CONTENT WARNINGS END. CHAPTER SPOILERS START.</p><p>if that doesnt set the tone idk what will lmao</p><p>anyways, congrats on sticking around! maybe leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed? i really do appreciate them! thanks so much, and i'll see you next chapter!</p><p>(oh also maoist saying gweilo is basically just a minor ethnic slur against white people. uno reverse card on nazi. shoutout to xi for coming in clutch with the chinese insults, ily)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>